


This is my Body and Soul

by tirithiel



Category: How to Train Your Dragon (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Gen, Ghosts, I'll add more as they become relevent, Magic, Minor Character Death, Monsters, Political Alliances, Possession, Spirits, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-21
Updated: 2021-03-23
Packaged: 2021-04-03 18:21:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 30,768
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21515746
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tirithiel/pseuds/tirithiel
Summary: Hiccup, son of the King of the Wilderwest, is struggling to accomplish the bare minimum of his status. That is, to capture a restless spirit, learn to control its fire, and join in the hunt against the cannibalistic ghouls that prowl the archipelago. He intends to do just that, until his latest attempt lands him in an unorthodox bind with an unusual spirit.As Hiccup tries to hide his affliction, outside forces invade the Council of Chieftains, political ties are made and broken, and dark tidings come from the Mainland. To make matters worse, a mysterious spiritual energy is reducing Hiccup's peers to the foul forms they hunt in the night, and no one seems to agree on what to do about it.If they are to stop the suffering of human and spirit alike, Hiccup and his new companion must find common ground between their kinds, before all falls into chaos.
Relationships: Dagur the Deranged/Hiccup Horrendous Haddock III, Dagur the Deranged/Mala, Heather/Astrid Hofferson, Hiccup Horrendous Haddock III & Astrid Hofferson, Hiccup Horrendous Haddock III & Fishlegs Ingerman, Hiccup Horrendous Haddock III & Stoick the Vast, Hiccup Horrendous Haddock III & Toothless
Comments: 26
Kudos: 41





	1. Chapter 1

In accordance with time-honored tradition, participants in the yearly binding ceremony must gather at forests edge a night prior, as the sun meets the sea, to take part in a final monstrous hunt, and prove their skill as an unbound viking.

As Hiccup watches the fleet of ships roll into rest at Berk's docks, he thinks that whoever came up with this rule should be forced to spend an evening in the cold with thirty or so battle hungry tweenagers. In fact, he thinks that they should have to do it every year for six years so they can really understand the depth of the suffering they have inflicted on him.

Hiccup closes his book with a huff and prepares to beat a hasty retreat back to the forge. He had planned on spending the morning enjoying his last moments of peace before a week of torture, but he has little desire to greet the incoming leaders, and even less to spend any additional time with their heirs. 

Hearing Hiccup's book shut, Fishlegs startles and pulls himself up from the grass, forgetting his own reading in his hurry to watch the scene. “They're here already! It's not even midday; did your Dad invite them to come early?” 

Hiccup shrugs non-noncommittally. “Maybe. He probably wanted additional time for shmoozing with the other chieftains.”

Fishlegs leans over the stone fence Hiccup is perched on, attempting to peer down the cliffside. “The Beserkers brought so many ships!” he exclaims, “You'd think they brought their whole village.”

“They may have. If the rumors are true, this year's ceremony is a big one for them.”

Fishlegs lets out a small noise of agreement. As Hiccup jumps from his perch and begins trekking up the hill, he is met with a large hand around his forearm.

“Hiccup! Don't leave! Please come down to the docks with me!”

“What!?” Hiccup cries out, incredulous. “No way.”

“Please! I want to go see who's here.”

Hiccup raises an eyebrow. “You already know who's here. You can go talk to her on your own!”

The larger boy releases his grip on Hiccup's arm and blushes, sputtering hopelessly.

Hiccup lets out a bemused huff and turns, continuing up the path. “Honestly, you've been writing back and forth for how long now? Why are you so nervous?”

“It's different in person!” Fishlegs insists, shuffling after. “I get all tongue-tied and sputtery. I need a buffer. And you've known her for longer! ”

Hiccup sighs quietly. While it's true that all the chieftain's heirs knew each other from a young age, that doesn't mean they're close. Quite the opposite in fact.“Yeah, but you probably know more about her than I do. What is me being there gonna change?” 

Fishlegs stares at Hiccup pleadingly. Hiccup stares right back, unmoving. Fishlegs is the closet thing he has to a friend, but there is no way he's subjecting himself to the jeering of the other clans any earlier than absolutely necessary. Hiccup puts a hand on the other boy's shoulder affectionately. “Fishlegs. It'll be fine. Really. She obviously likes talking with you, why would it be any different in person? You don't need me there being a third wheel.”

Fishlegs shifts nervously from foot to foot, his eyebrows furrowed. “Yo-. You think so?”

“I really do.” Surprisingly. “Besides, I think both me and my Dad would be happier if I stayed in the Forge til the hunt.”

Fishlegs pauses his fidgeting, looking awkwardly at his feet. “Hiccup, that's not true...” he mumbles.

Hiccup let out a dry laugh and nods down the path. “Go on. Go sweep her off her feet. And watch out for her brother.” And her father. And her tens of other “suitors”. 

As Hiccup watches his large friend descend the slope, he baffles at the futility of the situation. He was not lying; he does believe Heather likes Fishlegs. But the fact remains: her bind-fire is pure white. She will join the Wing-maidens, and they do not marry. Heather is not the type to turn down duty, and no amount of suitors, regardless of quality or sincerity, will convince her to abandon such a rare honor. She has been given a crystal clear path to glory for her family.

Gods, I wish that were me. Hiccup thinks. Not that he could ever be a Wingmaiden, obviously. But here he is, fifteen and yet to even bind a spirit.

To fail once is acceptable, normal in fact! To fail twice is a shame, but not unrecoverable. A third time will make your family blush. At four you may as well throw in the towel and accept your life as a carpenter.

As Hiccup approaches his sixth attempt, he wonders why he is still bothering.

It's not as though Hiccup has no future. He has trained with Gobber at the forge since he was six, and a blade smith is a vital, even honored, role. He has made and repaired more spirit-blades than the other clans' smiths put together. But even Gobber has had the opportunity to forge his own. Even Gobber has a bind. 

And Gobber is not the son of the King of the Wilderwest. 

As Hiccup enters the forge, he tosses his bag haphazardly onto the spare anvil he's been using as a desk. It manages to knock several papers to the floor. Upon closer examination, he can not recall what he was scribbling about, so he leaves them to their fate. He instead opts to close the windows before the visiting vikings start making themselves at home about the village. The last thing he needs is Snotlout, or Hroar, or Gods forbid Dagur, wandering in to harass him. 

Hiccup stands on a small crate near the counter and begins his usual struggle to pull the heavy panels down. If anyone else were here he may feel the normal amount of embarrassment regarding his weak frame, but he currently has no qualms about throwing around his full weight in an attempt to knock them loose. He is all but dangling from the ceiling when he is interrupted. “Ah, so this is what you like to do in your free time.”

Hiccup hits the counter with a yelp and rolls off, landing squarely on his back in the dirt outside. Taking a moment to stare at the back of his eyelids, he wonders what he did to deserve this life. He hears the person circle around the counter, stopping beside him. Upon squinting his eyes open, he is met with a deep blue gaze, stoic and unimpressed. He closes his eyes again and wonders a little harder.

“Are you...gonna get up, or is this where it ends for you?”

“It might be,” Hiccup grumbles, throwing a hand over his eyes. “If it is, does that get me out of the next week?”

“Not likely.” All at once Hiccup is hoisted up under his arms into a standing position. 

“...Thanks.” he mumbles. She grabs the panel he'd been struggling with a pulls it down with a swift tug. It's pretty unfair to watch. “Thanks..again.”

Astrid turns to face him, scowling. She is dressed for the occasion. Her hair has been drawn in a neat braid down her back, with thin threads of light blue ribbon woven between golden strands. More blue fabric peeks out beneath fitted brown leather, and a single, long piece is draped elegantly from shoulder to shoulder. If it weren't for the choppily cut bangs hanging traitorously over one eye, you might believe she gives a yak's ass what you think about her appearance. Hiccup takes her in for a moment, before noticing that her hands are placed rather firmly on her hips. He already knows what's coming. 

“Shouldn't you be at the opening ceremony? Y'know- with every other chiefson? At least acting like you give a crap about this?”

Hiccup stops gazing at her in favor of looking literally anywhere else. “Trust me, no one wants to see me down there. I'm sure Dad's getting enough comments regardless.”

She huffs, sweeping her bangs behind her ear in a sharp motion. “It doesn't matter. There are formalities that need to be met; if you don't at least try you may as well kiss your council seat goodbye!”

I'm pretty sure the Council's aware of the situation. Hiccup thinks bitterly.

After Hiccup's third attempt to bind, whispers began to emerge that Stoick would choose a new heir. Such a shame, that his only child should be physically and spiritually weak. Many names were tossed about, including Snotlout, Hiccup's cousin by his father's sister. Despite him being a blood relative, Astrid has always been the far more popular alternative. Not only is she physically strong and quick witted in battle, but she obtained a bind at ten, during her first ceremony. Her bind-fire never burns unintentionally, even in her angriest moments. It has been agreed (out of earshot of the king, of course) that if Stoick were wise he would declare her heir and let Hiccup retire to a life of uselessness.

Hiccup heard the rumors as soon as they began, of course. Snotlout made it his personal mission to rub Hiccup's face in them. However, Hiccup was not particularly interested in starting any rivalries (especially not with “Hard-ass Hofferson”) so he was quite prepared to let the speculation play out as it would. He was not expecting that his indifference would earn Astrid's fury more than open aggression would.

Hiccup didn't understand then, and he sure as shit doesn't understand now, but Astrid seems determined to make him try. He's not sure if he appreciates the gesture or not. In the moment, as she drags him forcefully towards the docks, he's leaning more towards not.

In all the time he's known her, Astrid hasn't been one to care about others. She's admired for her focus and determination in all aspects hunting; she rarely allows herself distractions. Hiccup has never seen her hanging out with anyone outside of training. He entertains himself with the thought that she may regard him as...something. She is certainly more invested in his social standing then he is at this point. An image of her cooing over the visiting boys like Ruffnut flies through Hiccup's mind and he nearly trips, holding in his laughter. Astrid casts an annoyed glance over her shoulder, but continues her pace.

“You're unbelievable.” she barks out.

“Wha- me? I'm unbelievable? Look at what you're doing right now.” Hiccup sputters and flails the arm in Astrid's grip for emphasis. “I think any image I'd save by being down there is going to be instantly lost when I show up being practically carried by you.”

“If you weren't being an ass I wouldn't have to.” she countered. “I see through you, Hiccup Haddock. If you really didn't care, you wouldn't be trying again this year, would you?”

Hiccup barks out a bitter laugh. “You say that like I have a choice. Have you even met my father? Trust me; I'm not expecting anything out of this years ceremony but the usual amount of misery.”

Astrid stops suddenly, releasing her grip. Hiccup lets out an audible huff of relief, rubbing his upper arm. “Look, Hiccup. Lets say you don't bind this year. Let's say you botch it again- “

“Wow, thanks, very encouraging.”

She continues as if uninterrupted, “-What will you lose by doing some mingling with the other tribes? It'll make the chief happy. It's not going to kill you.”

Hiccup disagrees very much, and expresses such. He feels obligated to continue doing so, even as Astrid drags him the entire rest of the way down the hill.

The main square of Berk is not particularly spacious, as the population of the village is not large. Though the usual crates of goods and market stands are removed for the festivities, the space is still downright claustrophobic. There are Vikings filling every available space, donned in their most festive attire, mingling and exchanging formalities. There is the typical amount of shouting and brawling. Multiple people have taken out instruments, but no one seems interested in coordinating a group; several unrelated melodies clash against each other.

Despite Hiccup's best efforts, people are already noticing his arrival. He pretends to be ignorant of the nods in his direction, the snorts, the comments that are just a little to loud to be unintentionally heard.

_“Isn't that Stoick's boy? Looks thinner then last year.”_

_“I hear he's participating_ again.”

_“What a shame, his only son...”_

Hiccup grits his teeth and silently curses Astrid. She had promptly released him when they arrived, and been swept away in a sea of color. He is determined to hunt her down and force her to acknowledge his suffering. But after several minutes of disorganized wandering, he accepts defeat and retreats to the less occupied docks. 

As his gaze wanders over the ships, he considers the consequences of jumping a fence and booking it back home. He has already been seen by several Councilmen. If it got back to his dad that he'd shown up only to ditch out, well. Hiccup doesn't want to think about it. He sighs, deciding to find a quiet corner to hide in, but instead spies an unexpected vessel. He grins, approaching the modest ship hurriedly. “Johann!”

The dark-haired captain, who had been bent over a letter, straightens up and opens his arms in greeting. “Master Hiccup! My, it's been a quite a while! Please, please, come aboard! I've obtained many unique treasures as of late, some may be of interest to you.”

Hiccup clamors onto the deck, eyes failing to conceal his excitement. “What are you doing here? I've never seen you attend a binding before. Have you come directly from the Mainland?”

“Oh yes, I have just sailed from the harbors of the Capitol City. I had some very profitable business with a Duke Archibald, and he directed me to a small shop with the most divine pastries imaginable. And I said to him, 'My lord, I cannot even begin-'”

Hiccup allows Johann to ramble on about the intricacies of Mainland politics as he looks through a pile of goods. After a few minutes, a large, red volume catches his eye, and he picks it up with careful motions. Mainlander books are always crafted much finer than anything Hiccup has seen in the Archipelago, but this one is particularly impressive. The leather is almost soft to the touch, but strong enough to hold the large amount of pages firm. It's embellished with intricate, leaf-like patterns. He suddenly feels very nervous, and returns it to it's place.

Johann notices and interrupts himself. “-Oh please, have a look! It is not so fragile.” He picks it up and places it, open, into Hiccup's hands. “How are your studies in Common progressing?”

Hiccup grimaces; the foreign characters on the page make his head swim. “I wouldn't call it studying. Hard to study without a teacher.”

_ **"Ah, it is not the facilities, but the intent that makes a scholar."**_ Johann declares. The language is fluid, too soft; the words blend into one another. Hiccup struggles to piece together what the trader said and recall what he has previously learned. After a moment, he responds, but the words come out harsh, broken in odd places.

_**"Speak Common, no one here. How can I practice?"**_

Johann smiles, twirling an end of his mustache. _**"No one here speaks Common."**_ ,he corrects. “Master Hiccup, I have the utmost faith in your abilities. You are a natural scholar. It is a shame that you live in an environment that is...” he pauses, frowning slightly. “...less optimal than others.”

Hiccup snorts, “Yeah, that's one way to put it.” 

It's not that vikings dislike scholarly pursuits: no not at all! It's only that those who pursue them are time wasting, resource squandering hooligans. If you aren't producing goods or slaying the monstrosities that run rampant through the forests, you are leeching. Hiccup is pretty sure the only reason his “studying” is tolerated is because he can crank out spirit weapons like nobody's business.

Johann returns to his makeshift desk. He nervously fiddles with one end of his long mustache.“Are you...” he clears his throat. “...participating? In the ceremony, that is.” 

Hiccup is suddenly very involved in tracing the books' embellishments, and avoiding eye contact. He murmurs, “What else can I do? You know what he's like.”

They fall into silence briefly. When Hiccup glances back up, he is unable to read Johann's expression. The trader opens his mouth, but a moment passes before any noise comes out. “...Master Hiccup. I'm sure that-”

A horn suddenly pierces the air. Hiccup takes the opportunity to avoid the awkward conversation that was sure to follow. “Ah-that'll be for dad's speech..I'd better go-” He closes the book gently and extends it to Johann. He is surprised to find it pushed gently back at him.

“Ah, keep it. It will surely assist your studies.”

Hiccup sputters, “Oh- no, Johann, I can't, I didn't bring any gold with me.”

“Consider it a thank you, for your past business.”

After a few more moments of insistent back and forth, Hiccup finds himself walking away with a small smile and the book clutched firmly to his chest. At least now he has something to look forward to at the end of this week. He mentally thanks Johann a final time as he follows the crowds to the Great Hall.

\---

If a villages' town center is for its residents, its Great Hall is for its visitors. It is meant to summarize a Clan's values, virtues, and power to its rivals. And Berk's Great Hall is very, very large.

Massive pine pillars tower in rows overhead. Wooden tables are pushed messily towards the windowless walls, leaving the center of the room open for the masses of visiting clans. Several large fire pits sit throughout the center, illuminating the entirety of the hall. At the far end, raised above the main floor, is a great throne of wood, engraved with powerful runes and embellished on nearly every plane. Large curtains of green fabric hang from the rafters behind it. They appear to shimmer in the torchlight, creating a stunning backdrop of emerald. In the center of it, standing menacingly near his seat, is Stoick the Vast.

The King of the Wilderwest, Head of the Council of Chieftains, is certainly an intimidating figure. He looks down to speak to even the tallest among the Council. His face is shrouded by a large flaming beard, and thick eyebrows. His shoulders are as wide as three average men, even without the great fur cloak he wears at all times. Rumor has it that when he last cast his bind-fire, he snapped a pine clean in half and crushed a ghoul beneath it.

Hiccup could clarify that it was actually three, and the cause of his anger was no ghoul, but a very persistent son who was expressing his distaste for repetitive ceremony.

Hiccup often wonders at what his mother must have looked like to create an offspring so completely separated from his father. Without prior knowledge, it would be impossible for anyone besides Berkians to connect that the two of them were family. This is both a blessing and a curse, as it currently allows Hiccup to avoid notice as he enters.

As the councilmen begin to seat themselves around the throne, Hiccup perches on a stool near the door. He despairs at the thought of getting trapped in conversation with anyone here; he'll leave during the toast.

Once the councilmen are all seated, Stoick turns towards the assembly. Idle chatter quickly fades away, and a relative quiet falls over the hall.

“Welcome, fellow clansmen, to Berk!” He all but shouts. The Berkians nearest to him give enthusiastic cheers. Stoick gives a hearty laugh, but gestures for silence before continuing. “I will keep this brief, as I am sure we are all anxious to begin the festivities.” Hiccup lets out an internal groan. 

“We are once again honored to be your hosts for this years hunt and binding ceremony. We ask that while you are here, you respect our few rules. Casting bindfire within the village borders is prohibited. Keep fighting to a minimum. And most crucial,” with a laugh, he casts his arms wide. “Make yourself at home.” 

Pleased exclamations swept through the hall. Hiccup sighs and silently prays that their guests wouldn't take that last comment to heart. He does not need them invading his life anymore then they usually do every year.

“This years ceremony is sure to be an exciting one.” Stoick gestures towards a councilman to his left and tips his head respectfully. “Oswald, if you would.”

Oswald, Chief of the Beserkers, stands and approaches Stoick. A slightly proud smirk shows vaguely through his white beard. It is very uncharacteristic of him; it is usual to see scowling at any and all proceedings. 

“My thanks, Stoick. I will make this brief, as I have been told most people here already know.” he raises his eyebrows in mock scolding. There are a few quiet chuckles. “It is with great pride that I must announce; as of this years binding, I will begin the process of stepping down as chief of Beserk. My firstborn, Dagur, will henceforth carry the Beserker bind as his own.” The crowd applauds politely in response, and a few hearty shouts can be heard from the front.

“However, this is not the only news I must share.” Oswald continues. Stoick, who had turned to face the audience again, raises his eyebrows and returns his gaze to the Beserker. The crowd murmurs, curious. “I hope that Chief Stoick and the Council may forgive me for diverting the subject, but since I have your audience, this is an opportune time.” Stoick nods politely, indicating he should continue.

Oswald clears his throat, “It is not everyday that I have the pleasure to announce the betrothal of two young peoples. It is even more rare that I may announce the betrothal of one of my own blood.” 

Soft murmurs pass through the hall. Hiccup leans forward in surprise. Oswald has no living siblings or cousins. No nieces or nephews. It must be Dagur or Heather. Surely not Heather... still, Hiccup's stomach clenches in worry for Fishlegs.

Oswald lets the crowd speculate a moment, eyes flaring in excitement. “Today, I officially announce the joining of my eldest, Dagur, and, Mala, of the Defenders.”

Hiccup can't stop his mouth from falling open. The crowd surges and wild chatter erupts. Hiccup looks towards his father. Stoick's eyes move from shock, to fury, to restrained calm, in seconds. The seated councilmen have varying expressions of disbelief and anger.

“What is the meaning of this?!” “Is Mala no longer heir to the Defender throne?” 

One harsh voice carries over the rest. “Aren't the Defenders supposed to remain neutral?”

Alvin the Treacherous, Chief of the Outcasts, stands. “I do believe that was at the request of the Defender's themselves, generations ago! How fickle your peoples' decrees are, Halvar”

Oswald's typical scowl has returned. The Defenders' King rises and speaks calmly, “There is no reason to believe we will not be in the future.”

Minor chaos re-erupts up front, interrupting the Kings' attempt to placate the council. Hiccup lets out a snort of disbelief. There is no way in Hel that two future clan leaders getting married won't effect council politics. Especially when one of them will be Queen of the Defenders.

Out of all thirteen Council seats, two of them are purely advisory. These seats belong to The King of the Defenders and the Queen of the Wingmaidens, both of whom act independently. They don't get a vote, but they also don't have to respect the outcome of a vote. If the council bans a trader from archipelago ports, the Defenders and Wingmaidens may still choose to trade with them. This makes them both valuable political allies, and even more dangerous enemies. 

In addition, The Defenders are responsible for investigating and intervening in potential possessions. For the Beserkers and the Defenders to have such an intimate tie...

Hiccup bites his lower lip. This marriage will ensure that the Defenders have preference to the Beserker clan and their politics for generations, at least. For Oswald to make such a public bid for political and military advantage...what was he playing at? And what do the Defender's have to gain? Hiccup doubts his father will just stand by idly. He once again turns his gaze to his dad, who is trying his best to keep composed. Despite his efforts, mild fury seeps out in his eyes. His hand is nearly white around the handle of his axe.

“My good men!” King Halvar rises from his seat and moves to join Oswald. He gradually calms the riled up councilmen enough to be heard through the room. “This betrothal has been formed with the utmost propriety and respect for tradition. Any concerns will be addressed when we next meet privately. This is neither the time or place.”

Alvin exclaims, “You're right! This was not the time for this announcement.” For once, Hiccup agrees with the old coot.

As the noise starts to ramp up again, Stoick slams the butt of his axe onto a nearby table. The thunderous sound of metal on wood pierces the room; the crowd and Council quiet instantaneously. 

He heaves a tense sigh and speaks, “This is a time of celebration. This extends to unexpected achievements.” Alvin lets out an audible snort and turns away. Stoick ignores him, facing Oswald and Halvar and offering a short, curt bow. “Congratulations are in order for the...joining...of your children.”

The two councilmen bow deeply in return, seemingly relieved that the arguing could be postponed to another date.

“Back to the matter at hand,” Stoick produces a mug from the table nearest to him. The tension lifts as the rest of the hall hurriedly follows suit. “Let us toast to this year's successful binding; may all our children be spiritually fulfilled, and fearless in their efforts against the monstrous horde.” 

Alvin gives Stoick a withering smirk, and Hiccup decides its high time he takes his leave.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These first chapters are going to be pretty heavy in character introduction and setup, but I promise that this is actually a supernatural fantasy haha. This is my first time writing fiction at all, let alone fanfic, but I've had it thought out for it for a looooong time so. Just gonna work on this whenever i get free time. C&C welcome, id love to hear thoughts


	2. Chapter 2

The towering pines of Berk's forests appear more ominous the lower the sun sets. This is only exacerbated by the knowledge that it houses a variety of beasts. The most terrifying by far is the ghoul, this hunt's prey of choice. Not that a bunch of ten to thirteen years olds really have any chance of slaying such a thing. At most, they may hope to bring home some rabbits, maybe a wild boar or wolf if they're lucky. This does not damper the excitement of the young participants. They have begun to group together near the edge of the trees, boasting with each other and showing off their weapons. Their parents stand nearby, watching with pride and speculating on the hunt to come. 

Stoick, on the other hand, is nowhere to be seen, and Hiccup is currently having a crisis.

“_Why_, Gods, why.”

“I mean, it is _technically_ tradition.”

“Screw tradition. Really. Just..._fuuuuuck_-why?”

Hiccup bends and places his hands on his knees, trying to suppress the dread growing in his belly. This changes all his plans for the evening. His usual set up is to follow the group at a distance, far enough to avoid battle or hassling, close enough to rejoin if there's trouble. That is _not_ going to work tonight.

Fishlegs shrugs helplessly. “Sorry. I wasn't going to tell you, but Heather said it would be polite to give you advanced notice.”

_This hardly qualifies as advanced._ Hiccup glances at the fading sun. It's too late to go back for the supplies he would need to rough it on his own for the night. Still, he turns his head to where Heather is standing with a small group of the younger Wingmaidens. She is watching him with sympathetic eyes. Hiccup waves halfheartedly and hopes she reads it as a thank you. She smiles sheepishly and returns to the conversation.

Even without the uniform of gray steel, it's clear that Heather is already a Wingmaiden, all but officially. She converses with the women casually; her laughter carries musically over the general noise.

“She's going to shadow the Wingmaidens tonight!” Fishlegs says in awe, “She's so great!”

Hiccup straightens up, shaking his head slightly at his friend. There is not a hint of sadness or remorse on Fishleg's face. _What a romantic._

“I don't understand,” Hiccup says, returning to the original subject. “why he would want to join a hunt with a bunch of kids.”

“Like I said, it is tradition, even if his case is unique. I wonder if Oswald joined the hunt when he was passed the Beserker bind.” Fishlegs scratches under his round chin. “Besides, it wouldn't be much like Dagur to pass up an opportunity to hunt, would it?”

Hiccup grunts in agreement, and despairs at his bad luck.

It's not that Dagur is particularly malicious to Hiccup, like Snotlout or Hroar. It's just that he's a huge mass of unrestrained chaotic energy, in general. Enough so that even his own younger sister is aware and apologetic. He speaks without thinking, seems to revel in anyone's discomfort, and thoroughly enjoys all types of physical aggression. Especially if he can get a battle trophy out of it. _Maybe that's why he's participating in a children's hunt at **eighteen**._ In any case, this night is sure to create shenanigans in some form, and if the pattern stands, Hiccup is unlikely to escape unscathed.

Hiccups dread plummets further to the pit of his stomach as he spies the Council approaching, led by his dad and King Halvar. A small group of Defender warriors follow. They are as immaculate as ever in dark, masked robes, with great sabers strapped to their backs. The group appears completely identical in every regard, baring height and width. The Defender uniform is impressively effective at eliminating all prominent features. If one stares long enough at the eyes, you may be able to determine the gender, but it is impossible to identify which warrior originated from which clan. Hiccup has often wondered if they truly do leave their faces covered permanently, as they say, or if they uncover on Caldera Cay.

Mala alone stands unmasked at the front of the group. Like her father, she wears an altered version of her clan's uniform, embellished with golden trim. Pale blonde hair is knotted into a high, tight bun on the top of her head, making her appear even taller than she already is. Her face, while relatively stoic, is relaxed and approachable. 

Unlike normal Defenders, who are recruited from the clans, Mala was born into the Defender mantle. Hiccup assumes that this makes her like her father; slightly proud, set in her ways, and bound to duty. Not that Hiccup really knows her. She is quite a few years older than him, so they never interacted much at all. Even so, Hiccup is having a hard time picturing her and Dagur as a pair.

He doesn't have to struggle for long, as Dagur takes up the spot to her right, a massive, slightly disconcerting grin across his face. It seems impossible, but he has grown even more brutish in appearance the past year. He sports a new tattoo across his left eye; from Hiccup's distance it appears to be a large, dark claw slash. Typical. A red, knotted braid sticks out from the base of his skull. He is wearing the stupidest helmet Hiccup has ever seen. Though the top of his head sits at Mala's eye level, its massive horns tower over her. 

Dagur turns to Mala and begins speaking, loud and brash enough that Hiccup can identify his tone, even from this distance. Unexpectedly, Hiccup sees Mala give him a small, seemingly genuine smile. Several Councilmen shoot disapproving looks towards the couple, but turn away quickly to avoid stirring the pot with Oswald. _Yeah, That's about the usual._

The Councilman begin to separate, and the young participants follow suit, approaching their respective chieftains.

“Uh, I'd better go; good luck, Hiccup!” Fishlegs squeaks as he dashes away. 

Hiccup allows a moment to compose himself before he follows the other Berkian participants to where Stoick is standing. There are four besides him. Three are fresh inductees, and one is...

“Gustav! Reporting for duty! Sir!” The kid squeaks out. Stoick looks him up and down, exasperated but amused. In the end, he deigns to humor him. “At ease, warrior of Berk.” The dark-haired child puffs up noticeably. Hiccup can't help but roll his eyes a bit, and of course his dad catches it. Hiccup meets his eyes for a moment; it's impossible to tell what the Chieftain is thinking, but it doesn't stop him from imagining. Hiccup looks back down at his feet.

The tension goes unnoticed by the excited kids. Stoick clears his throat. “Remember, you are not just representing yourself and your abilities. Tonight, you are responsible for the image of Berk. Carry yourself well; work with the other clans. Only through unity can you hope to catch your prey.”

The group nods in assent, determination on their faces. Hiccup has stopped listening, distracted by a growing ruckus coming from the Beserker group. Rather than Oswald, it appears that Dagur is giving an overly enthusiastic pep talk to eight or so kids, all clad in fur. The group suddenly lets out a piercing howl, in complete unison.

Now the rest of the assembly joins Hiccup in watching the Beserkers: some appear amused, others annoyed, and some purely bewildered. Hiccup catches a quick glance of Heather; she has a hand to her head, but is obviously unsurprised by the strange display. 

“...As I said.” Stoick says with emphasis. “Represent us _well_.”

As quickly as they assembled, the kids scatter to say goodbyes to their parents. For the first time in many days, Hiccup finds himself alone with his father. It's not awkward.

“...Do you have everything you need?”, Stoick questions gruffly.

“Oh, uh, yeah yeah, I-” Hiccup bounces his pack lightly. “-I'm, ah- set.”

Stoick nods. He faces Hiccup, but his gaze carries over his head, towards the forest. “Don't take any risks. And please- don't start anything with our visitors.”

Hiccup narrows his eyes. “Hey, okay, maybe ask them not to start anything with me? I don't pick fights, I just try to-”

Stoicks eyes snap downwards to meet Hiccup's; they hold the threat of a future conflict. Hiccup lets out a defeated sigh. “Sure, Dad. I'll avoid them. Just..” he makes a vague motion with his hands. “...in general.”

Stoick holds his breath a moment before letting out something resembling a sigh. He takes a step closer and kneels to meet Hiccups eyes with purpose. Hiccup feels a hopeful flutter in his chest.

“Hiccup, this hunt is an important part of our relationship with the other clans. It is vital that we give them no reason to doubt our commitment to peace.” Ah. There it is. Hiccup tries to keep the disappointment from reaching his eyes. If he is unsuccessful, his Father gives no indication. He continues,

“...That being said... The other clans may not be so dedicated to our goal.” He pauses and looks pointedly away. Hiccup follows his gaze to where Dagur and Mala are saying goodbyes. Their hands are clasped together modestly; neither seems particularly uncomfortable. “Any information we may hear regarding certain...events. May be crucial.”

Hiccup squints and raises an eyebrow. “So, you're asking me to spy on them-?” 

Stoick hangs his head in exasperation and sighs in earnest, rubbing his temple. After a moment he recovers and returns to his previous position. He continues, voice lowered. “I am telling you...to subtlety obtain some details. The lad certainly likes to talk about himself. Start from there.” 

Hiccup backs away a few steps, “Yeah, nono, I don't really do subtle. You know that, right?”

Stoick stares at Hiccup a few moments. His eyes suddenly return to their regular stoicism; the moment is shattered. He stands, placing his hands behind his back. “Nevermind. Don't concern yourself. Just stay out of trouble.” He abruptly turns and heads towards the other Chieftains, who have gathered farthest away from the forest. Hiccup opens his mouth to speak, but has no words. His throat clenches with slight guilt; his father rarely trusts him enough to bring up Council issues, and he blew it.

The Berkian warhorn blares in the distance, signaling the start of the hunt. The mob of children converges on Dagur, and it is all Mala can do to navigate herself away before she is carried into the forest with them. As the group sprints away, Hiccup mutters a tiny prayer to the gods before breaking into a running pursuit, ignoring the laughter from behind him.

When Hiccup finally catches up to the party, it is only because the sun has fully set, and they need to set torches. The group is not making even a sliver of effort to be quiet. In this instance, it is helpful, as it covers Hiccups approach. He is just not built for long distance, and it's audible as he draws gasping breaths. As he recovers, Hiccup catches snippets of conversation between the kids.

“Lets head East! My sister says there's boars in the Marshes!”

“Uh, we're not hunting boars, numnut! We're hunting ghouls!”

“Since when has a bind-hunt ever actually brought back a ghoul? We should stick to something that we can cook up tomorrow after the ceremony!”

“You're just afraid! When we get back I'm gonna tell your Dad that you're a big scaredy-cat!”

Hiccup recognizes the antagonist as Gustav, and debates intervening for the slimmest of moments. Not worth the trouble. In any case, someone else beats him to it.

“Hunters, hunters, no need to argue!” Dagur waltzes through the other kids, straight into their conversation. “The hunter with the most experience should worry about strategy. And that's me.”

Hiccup can barely comprehend the teen's arrogance, but the young clanmates are easily impressed. A blonde girl pipes up, “Dagur, is it true you've killed ghouls before?”

He shrugs, and plays with his axe nonchalantly, “Of course! I slayed my first at thirteen. Only a complete dunce wouldn't have by that age.”  
Hiccup grimaces while the kids chitter in excitement. Another speaks, “What was it like? Was it huge? Did it have big fangs?” 

Dagur suddenly grins widely, so widely it's almost creepy. “Not the time, junior. If you want to know, we need to get moving.”

There's frantic whispering. One of the attendees from Berk speaks, “You mean...we are going to hunt ghouls?”

“Not just any ghoul!” Dagur grows louder, addressing the twenty or so kids. “I took the liberty of scouting the forest this afternoon. I found signs of an advanced ghoul, heading west. If we split into groups, we can corral it into the traps I set, and finish it off.”

Oh. Gods.

This is not happening. This cannot happen.

“Uh-that's...a- are you sure that's a good idea?”

Every single pair of doe eyes turn to look at him at once. Dagur glances over his shoulder, eyebrows furrowed, before turning fully. His expression quickly brightens into recognition.

“Ah, if it isn't Hiccup! Back for try number six, right?”

Giggling erupts. Hiccup would blush if he hadn't heard worse taunts before. Though it doesn't really seem like Dagur notices his own rudeness; he approaches and throws an arm around Hiccup's shoulder. He squeezes incredibly tight, and Hiccup feels several joints popping at the pressure.

“Well, little Hiccup, since you're the second oldest and second most experienced here, it's only fitting that you lead the second group.” Hiccup's discomfort is immediately replaced with panic. He is likely the least experienced when it comes to fighting: he has never hunted outside of bind ceremonies, and can hardly hold a sword. he opens his mouth to protest, but is interrupted.

“No, not him!” an outcast kid pipes up. “My Ma says he's a failure of a chiefson. Only one his age unbound.”

Okay, that one stung a bit. Hiccup can fell heat rise to his cheeks at the thought of some woman deeming his sad ass life important enough to share with her offspring. Was he used as an example of a worst case scenario? A threat to convince them to eat their vegetables and give their nightly thanks to the gods?

“_Ohhohoho_....” Dagur chortles, shoulders shaking with an overabundance of force. “Well. I'm sure your mother is a very smart woman. But,” Dagur releases Hiccup and takes a threatening step towards the kid. “I'm also unbound. And I'm older. So what does that make me, then, hm?”

The child begins to sputter as his friends distance themselves from him. “Thats- that's different! Ery'one knows that you got your clans' bind lined up...you could have bound before if you wanted!”

Dagur leans back and laughs loudly, instantly appeased. “Ohohohoho! Of course! But why would I want to? The Beserker bind is the most powerful. It's been molded over generations!” The mild terror he induced fades back to wonder as the kids become caught up in his bragging once more. “Which is why it is only fitting that the recipient of such a spirit be the first in years to return from this hunt with a ghoul. And you all get to be a part of it!”

Wow, so generous. _What a dick._

Hiccup makes a second attempt. “Uh...Dagur..” 

The older boy turns away from the children, facing Hiccup once more. Hiccup hesitantly takes a few steps closer and lowers his voice.

“These kids...I mean, these are kids. I don't think it's a good idea to throw them headfirst into a ghoul hunt. Most of them have never even seen one!”

Hiccup's expecting anger at his disapproval, but Dagur just raises an eyebrow, confused. “How else would you do it?”

“Um..I don't know...with a chaperone?” Hiccup tries.

Dagur looks thoughtful for a moment, then breaks into his classic, maniacal grin. “That's us!”

Hiccup's not sure he likes being considered the “adult” in this situation. He tries to speak again, but Dagur has already turned back to address the group, who have re-huddled a few paces away. 

“Alright hunters! Line up! I'm splitting the parties.” 

The kids scramble to assemble, some tripping each other in the process. 

Hiccup comes to his original conclusion once again; he cannot prevent or escape this craziness. He steps around Dagur to join the line, but his arm shoots out to block Hiccup's path. 

“What are you doing?” 

“Uhm....lining up?” 

Dagur rolls his eyes towards his forehead, holding them there for a moment. “Are you deaf? You're leading a party. Half of them will go with you.”

Hiccups discontent is reflected back to him in the faces of the kids. Dagur is oblivious, pointing at a rather stocky boy. “You, with me.”

The boy pumps his fist victoriously, and dashes to stand beside Dagur.

“You,” he gestures to the outcast child who spoke earlier. “with Hiccup.”

“What?!” he exclaims. “Why?” He quickly withers under Dagur's sharp stare.

“Be_caaauuse_ any decent hunting party splits groups by skillset. You and this guy,” he gestures at the kid next to him. “have similar builds. Splitting you up balances.”

Hiccup can't disagree. Seems the kid wants to, but still he shuffles towards Hiccup, his eyes boring daggers into him. 

Hiccup has had a lot of bad nights, but he's pretty sure this one is shaping up to be the worst yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next chapter: that fun shit >:D I'm excited to write the spooky stuff!


	3. Chapter 3

The moon has already peaked by the time the groups part ways. After hours of absorbing the details of Dagur's plan, and without him here to reign them in, the kids are practically vibrating with anxious energy. As they walk to the starting point of their path, the gremlins are squealing and shouting at each other with fervor. It is driving Hiccup's nerves to an extreme that he can no longer tolerate. His irritation overcomes his desire to avoid attention.

“Can you ALL! PLEASE,” he yells, just loud enough to be heard. “_PLEASE!_ Stop yelling.”

“No!” It's the Outcast boy, of course. He is unintentionally more successful at quieting the others. “Dagur said we could make as much noise as we want! It'll scare the ghoul where we want it.”

Hiccup can't help but toss his head back in annoyance. These kids will follow Dagur to a dangerous extreme.

“There _are_ other things out here, you know. Things that don't stick to the shadows. Things that hunt in packs, and would love to gnaw on a mass of easy targets.” Hiccup says.__

_ _“WHO'S AN EASY TARGET?!” the boy shouts. He draws his mace and flails it in some wildly ineffective patterns._ _

_ _The rest of the kids, upon seeing his weapon, simply cannot miss the opportunity to show off their own._ _

_ _Before any more weapons are fully unsheathed, Hiccup throws his hands up from the center of the group. “STOP! Stop, keep your shit in your sheathes.”_ _

_ _There's a communal gasp and then silence._ _

_ _“You said a naughty word.” a little girl whispers._ _

_ _“What?” The outcast boy grins, seizing his opportunity to reclaim the situation. “SHIIIIT???”_ _

_ _ “..........shit.” another one whispers. The group erupts into nervous giggling._ _

_ _“Shit!” _ _

_ _“SHIT” _ _

_ _“Shhhhiiiiiiii-”_ _

_ _“OH-kay, that's enough!” Hiccup exclaims, slapping his hand over a girl's mouth. The last thing he wants to explain to his Dad is why he taught expletives to a bunch of children._ _

_ _The Outcast brat points his mace at Hiccup. “You can't tell us what to do, right guys? You're a loser! You can't even train with the kids your age!”_ _

_ _“Yeah yeah, of course. You're very independent warriors, very worthy and whatnot.” Hiccup says, removing his hand to rub his temples. “Look, we need to be at the first marker soon.” he grimaces and resorts to a tactic he'd hoped he wouldn't have to use. “_Dagur_ is counting on you; you don't want to make him think you can't handle a hunt on your own, right?”_ _

_ _The kid's eyes light up with determination, desperate to redeem himself to his hero. He gestures the rest of the hunters towards him. “Right, lets go guys! We've got a ghoul to slay!” The group finally resumes their previous pace. Hiccup releases a held in sigh._ _

_ _ _Please, Gods. Help me corral these idiots. Don't let us be eaten by the ghoul. Please keep me from losing my shit._ _ _

_ _“SHIT! SHIT!! SHIT!” They chant ahead._ _

_ _ _Stop mocking me._ _ _

_ _

_ _The party is to wait at each pre-planned mark for as long as it takes 5 matches to burn. Surprisingly enough, they manage to reach the first three markers without major incident. It is at the third that Hiccup currently paces, thoughts flying. By his count, there are only four remaining points until the theoretical confrontation. His stomach squirms in discomfort. If the ghoul falls into the trap, a bloody scene is guaranteed. _ _

_ _Hiccup thinks back to the last time he'd seen a ghoul. It was previously an elder of Berk; he had been living out his sunset years in relative isolation, so no one noticed his loosening bind until it was far to late. Gobber found it one night, feeding on a watchmen. Unfortunately, Gobber was quite proud of the ensuing battle, and never missed a chance to relay the story._ _

_ _As much as Hiccup doesn't want to witness a similar scene tonight, he knows that at this point the results will be much worse if the thing isn't caught. The chances of all of the kids making it out alive would be slim._ _

_ _A sudden shout interrupts Hiccup's worrying and causes him to jump quite wildly. He turns towards the source. As expected, the group is in minor hysterics, and the Outcast boy has a wild grin across his face._ _

_ _“What's the matter, tiny? You scared of somethin'?”_ _

_ _Hiccup knows it's juvenile, but he can't help but retort. “No offense, but 'tiny' really doesn't have any sting coming from you. You're like, ten.”_ _

_ _The boy stands, overly angry. “I'M ELEVEN, SO SHUT THE FUCK UP!”_ _

_ _There's a tiny gasp. “You said a bad word.”_ _

_ _“Who CAREEES!” he screams. “WHATEVER! I'm bored, let's go!”_ _

_ _As he stomps off, the group starts to stand and follow. _ _

_ _“Woah, woah, hey, we've still got two match-lengths to wait.” Hiccup calls._ _

_ _The boy turns with a glare. “You can stay and wai' for the stupid matches to burn; I'm gonna go catch that ghoul!” With that, he takes off towards the next mark._ _

_ _A few of the kids at least have the decency to look between him and Hiccup a few times before hauling ass after him. The rest just grab the torches and book it._ _

_ _Hiccup stands frozen in shock as darkness envelops him. Then, with a curse, he grabs his things and runs after them, shouting._ _

_ _

_ _When he reaches the next mark, the kids have already left. They waited even less time here; a lit torch lies on the ground with three matches, yet to burn. _ _

_ __Oh gods, this is not good._ Hiccup has to pause and catch his breath. His only chance of containing these dumbasses was through talking, and now he can't even do that. The situation seems pretty futile; if they continue to arrive at and leave the marks early, they will be _way_ out of rhythm with Dagur's group. They will eventually be too far ahead, and the ghoul will have an opening behind them._ _

_ _Right where Hiccup is currently straggling._ _

_ _Hiccup has no chance of catching up with these bundles of energy, even if he ditches his pack. He can turn and hightail it towards the forest's edge. The Defenders are patrolling the borders for any sign of danger. If he can reach them, they can come intervene. But at his current pace, there's no way the Defenders would make it in time. A ghoul will flee from a large party of humans, but as soon as it's close enough to realize the group is exposed and full of young...well. Hiccup knows there's really only one option._ _

_ _He picks up the abandoned torch and gets to work. Thanks to a recent rainfall and damp leaves, it only takes a few minutes to start a fairly large, very smokey fire. A pillar, lit in bright orange, carries itself high over the now illuminated evergreens. Hiccup prays that the Defenders will find it unusual enough to be worth investigating. _ _

_ _As the flames gently cast away the chill that has settled in him, Hiccup pretends that this is all that the rest of the night holds. Just a crackling fire and some quiet._ _

_ _Nothing's ever that easy, though._ _

_ _Hiccup kneels and halfheartedly rummages through his supplies. He grabs his dagger, but decides against taking anything else. He needs to move quick if he wants to maintain his current distance from the group. _ _

_ __Maybe the Defenders will see my pack and figure out what happened._ Not likely, but hey, mug half full and all that._ _

_ _Hiccup pivots and stares into the heavy dark ahead. His previous anxiety has transformed into full blown fear, gripping his chest and stuttering his breathing. Hiccup wills himself to move, but stands frozen; is he just imagining that a pair of eyes are gazing from the shadows?_ _

_ _ _Just a step. Just one step, Hiccup._ _ _

_ _He takes a step forward. And another. He continues, until the fire is long behind him and the cold has returned to his bones._ _

_ _

_ _It's been a half hour when Hiccup realizes he's being stalked. What was once a vague rustling, far in the distance, has prowled undeniably closer. The ghoul is on his trail: the kids will soon be waiting, safe and confused by an empty trap._ _

_ _ _Fucking morons._ _ _

_ _Hiccup tries to control his breathing, keeping his pace steady so as to seem unaware. But his blood has run cold, as well as his body. His feet, heavy under the weight of the frigid night air, sink into the muddy forest floor with each step. He feels as though his heart will kill him before the ghoul even takes it's prey. It seems to slams back and forth, shaking his ribs, threatening to burst with every motion._ _

_ _Hiccup unconsciously grips his dagger tighter in his fist; he vaguely feels the hilt through the familiar numbness of his fingers. What will his Dad think when he hears? Will he realize what Hiccup did? Maybe this will be a relief; that his son should pass to Valhalla through a hunt. It's more than he likely expected. Maybe now, he will allow himself to officially call Astrid his heir. _ _

_ _The hollow crack of wood breaking resounds from the left. Hiccup freezes, his eyes flying shut. His body screams at him to run._ _

_ _He takes another slow step forward, and wonders if Astrid will grieve._ _

_ _Will she wonder what might have been, like he does now? It's doubtful. Maybe she'll give him a moment of pity before she accepts her new mantle. Hiccup pictures her older, donned in great furs like his father, standing in a hall draped in blue. His lips twitch into a trembling smile. Its not a bad thought. His body continues to move forward of it's own accord._ _

_ _Theres a great shuffling as multiple limbs descend onto the ground behind. He freezes again with a small whimper._ _

_ _It circles towards his front, but Hiccup will not open his eyes. Still, he hears thick, wet growls. And then he smells. Almost gags. It is thick, visceral, of iron. Of blood. Who's, or what's?_ _

_ _It screams out suddenly, raw, forcing his eyes open._ _

_ _What once was human is compelled into foreign shape. It is twisted, elongated, seeking, unsuccessfully, to create natural form of something otherworldly. It's covered in thick, scratchy skin; it appears as black leather, with deep crags and separations cutting throughout. At the end of thick limbs are blunted, rounded fingers and bitter claws. On each shoulder blade, a hill grows beneath hardened hide, as though bone is attempting to burst through the layers of flesh. Its brow is squashed back as much as the profile is pushed forward. The jaw is wide, so wide, and the mouth stretches across the whole width. From its maw hangs glistening, bloody fangs._ _

_ _It rears up on it's back legs and lets out another screech._ _

_ __Oh gods, this is death._ Hiccup's dagger drops to the ground. _ _

_ _It tilts its head, eyes following the weapon, then looks to Hiccup once more._ _

_ _As he stares back, frozen, he cannot deny the recognition that passes between. It's confused._ _

_ _Something is still there. _ _

_ _Something _human?__ _

_ _The ghoul abruptly scrambles back into the dark of the trees._ _

_ _Hiccup has forgotten how to breath. _ _

_ _

_ _In Dagur's opinion, this hunt is in the bag. Every piece of his plan was thoroughly vetted by his fellow Beserkers hours before the hunt. Not that any of them had any revisions, of course. True, a trap is one of the more boring ends to a great pursuit, but it guarantees he'll bring home a ghoul for the first time in years. It's only fitting to mark his crowning and binding with a great victory. Oh, and his engagement. Dagur imagines presenting his bride to be with a wedding gift made from his most recent prey. Perhaps a leather satchel? Or a runed charm from its' bone or horns? So many possibilities! Dagur can feel his heart pumping faster in excitement._ _

_ _Which is why he is rather peeved when he hears a harsh shriek through the woods. He should not be hearing a shriek at all, if his plan is followed. In theory, if there was to be a shriek, it should be coming from the direction they are walking, not from the direction of the sidekick group. But he should not be hearing a shriek, so he echoes it with fury. It does not carry as far as he hoped._ _

_ _Dagur turns to his hunters. They stare at him with big eyes, either adoring or terrified. Dagur's alright with either, so he doesn't bother to differentiate. _ _

_ _“Hey, GooseTall. C'mere.”_ _

_ _The kid huffs a bit. “It's Gustav. Gus. Tav.”_ _

_ _“Yeahyeah whatever.” Dagur hands over the matches. “Here, keep moving towards the trap. I'm gonna go scout out.”_ _

_ _Gusstal raises his eyebrows. “Me? Okay! Sure! Uh, but, why are you scouting? Are you gonna go get that wolf that just howled? I don't know if we'll be able to carry both back.”_ _

_ _Dagur feels unrestrained annoyance flare up in his chest. “Don't worry about it! Just keep to my plan!” he snaps._ _

_ _“Woah, okay, geez... I got it. No big.”_ _

_ _Dagur unsheathes his axe and marches into the woods with a huff. Gods, what a fool. That cry was just about the furthest thing from a wolf. It could be nothing but a ghoul, _the_ ghoul, _his_ ghoul. He would have thought that the son of the king could manage to follow simple instructions, but obviously he cannot. Oh well. That's Dagur's mistake; he won't make it again._ _

_ _Even as his belly coils in anger, he is filled with childish joy. Though his previous plan is shot, he has to admit that the scrawny boy has gifted him with a great opportunity. To return to the gathered, covered in the blood and viscera of battle, his trophy in hand. Unassisted. What a rush! _ _

_ _Dagur feels a grin spread across his face; he quickens his pace, eager to get to the best part of the hunt._ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> c&c welcome, as always


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: chapter contains mild gore, continue at own discretion!

The first thing Hiccup realizes is that he is insufferably frigid and damp. He struggles to open his eyes; it's as though the lids are frozen together. He can feel solid ground and wet cloth beneath his back. He takes a shallow breath; his senses are greeted with earth and decay. _Where am I? I was...hunting. Right, the group, the trap, the...._

Hiccup snaps up abruptly as terror courses through him anew. The forest spins, and so does he, searching his surroundings for a snapping jaw or a vicious slash of weighty claws. But the space around him is empty, or surely he would have been dead already.

Hiccup breathes deep and slow, trying to slow his rapid heart. He had fainted. _Of course. Amazing. Great job, Haddock._

He is unsure how much time has passed; he glaces past the heavy branches into the sky, but clouds have blown in, blocking the astral bodies from view. It's still dark, at least, so it hasn't been too long.

Hiccup pushes himself onto his hands and knees, but cant find the strength to fully remove himself from the puddle he was lying in. He stares at his fingers, gripping soggy leaves and mud. _What do I do now? _His mind is traitorously devoid of any rational thought. Yet the memory of those eyes, undeniably lucid, pierces through.

That thing was the most advanced ghoul Hiccup had ever seen. Barely even resembling a human form...how long does it even take for a body to deform so severely? Surely many years. It must be good at hiding. The thought certainly doesn't help his current nerves. Though neither does sitting here, staring at nothing. He needs to find the kids, if they aren't. Well. 

Hiccup's stomach forms into a tight knot. With purpose, he pushes himself fully upright, until he's sitting back on his heels.

Which way had the ghoul...fled? Hiccup shakes his head. That can't be right.

“The most important part of hunting is to know your prey, and know your own ability.” Gobber states to his audience. The Berkian children are gathered around him on the floor of the mead hall, in rapt attention, eager to expand their expertise. “Tell me, what would you do if you find yourself face-to-face and outmatched by a ghoul?”

A dark haired child waves his hand excitedly. “Oh, I'd step up my game, show the thing who's boss! It won't beat me when I use my awesome bind-fire!” he nearly shouts, making vivacious punching motion.

Gobber lets out a huff. “Well, Snotlout, you don't have that yet. And like I said, this beast outmatches you. You can stay and fight, but you'll be dead. Next!”

A nearby set of twins burst into devilish laughter; he pushes them, attempting not to pout.

A lithe hand goes up. “I can lead it into a trap.”

“Aye, not bad, Astrid. But that will only work in the moment if you set up ahead of time. If you underestimated the beast, you will not have foreseen your need for them. A lesson on preparedness for another time. Fishlegs?”

The large boy lowers his hand and sputters, “You could run! Run and find help!”

“Yeah, I don't think that's a good plan for you.” the female twin snickers.

“Not a good plan for anyone.” Gobber interrupts before a usual round of bickering can start. “Ghouls have enhanced physical abilities. You won't get far if you're not focusing on its' attacks. Next.”

The group falls into deep thought. A dirty hand raises, slowly. “What if, hear me out, I dump curdled yak milk on it to distract it, Gods know no one can resist the sweet, chunky appeal of curdled yak-”

“Stop while you're ahead, Tuffnut. Hiccup, you've been awfully quiet.”

“I wouldn't say awfully.” says Snotlout.

Hiccup feels a familiar warmth in his cheeks, but responds to Gobber with as much confidence as he can muster.

“There's nothing to be done.”

The group turns to look at him, confused. Except Astrid, who is wearing quite the scowl.

Snotlout barks out a laugh. “Should have expected you to just give up.”

“Well, as it turns out, Hiccup is the only one who understood the point of the exercise.” Gobber says as he unstably rises from his seat; his wooden leg creaks under the added weight. “There is no escape once you've confronted a ghoul. It's you or it. If it outmatches you,-” he turns looks at Hiccup. “-you die.”

As he finally approaches the warm light of the rendezvous point, Hiccup is pretty sure he's still alive. If not, this is a pretty strange afterlife. Yet if he is, then Gobber's past lesson, with all it's conviction, is false. A ghoul had Hiccup at it's mercy, and turned away. 

_None of this makes sense._ Hiccup shakes his head.

“Oi! Where have you been? It's been hours!” 

Hiccup jolts from his own thoughts. The Outcast boy and the rest are gathered around a hastily made fire. At the far side of the clearing, the trap sits. Empty, of course. Hiccup has only a moment to feel relieved.

The boy eyes Hiccup up and down, grinning. “Did you get lost? Slip in a puddle?”

Hiccup stares down the boy with an unfamiliar amount of anger. He glances around the group, but mostly addresses the culprit. “What in the hell were you thinking?! Do you understand what you did? What sort of danger you put everyone in? Not only yourselves, but the other-” His speech is cut off as his mind grinds to a halt. There are too many gremlins here. This isn't just Hiccup's group. It's everyone. Except-

“...Where's Dagur?”

“Oh, he went off on his own.” Gustav pipes up from the far side of the fire, which he is currently stabbing with a stick.

“He _what?_”

“Yeah,” said Gustav, waving his now lit stick around his face. “Wanted to go chase that wolf that howled or something.”

For what feels like the millionth time tonight, Hiccup feels the blood drain from his face, his stomach clench, his mind go blank. 

“When-”

The thought dies on Hiccup's lips as a bloodcurdling cry cuts through the trees behind him.

The kids eyes go wide, unable to mask the terror the sound evokes. Hiccup imagines his expression is similar. That cry was close. Very close. And he's pretty sure he knows what caused it.

A tense silence settles for a few moments, interjected with quiet movement as the kids reach for their blades or shuffle closer to each other. Then there is another piercing howl, pained and unmistakably unnatural, and they all leap in fear. 

Muffled whimpers and whispers begin to rise from around the group. It seems that, without Dagur, they've lost their confident air. 

“Okay, okay. Um. Here's what we're gonna do.” Hiccup stammers, attempting to assume any form of control. “It's an hour or so from daybreak. We should be heading to the forest's edge anyway. So we're just gonna take a little detour away from the terrifying, monstrous screeching.”

“Uhm, excuse me!” The Outcast boy barks. “We're on a hunt! We aren't returning empty handed.”

“That's really what you're worried about right now?”

“Yes! We _NEED_ something to present! We should go hunt that beast!” 

He looks around to his peers expectantly, seeking the same enthusiastic response from earlier in the evening. His excitement is not returned.

“I dunno', Destin.” says an Outcast girl. “I'm tire'.”

“And hungry.” adds a Beserker, gripping his stomach.

“Y'know, the hunt three years back didn't bring home anything...” another says. “-and over half of them still bound that year! Right, Hiccup?”

Once again, the dozens of kids turn their eyes to Hiccup, though this is the first time they've sought his opinion. As he glances around, he recognizes a familiar fear in their faces, one that is all too common among Archipelago youth. He feels his heart clench in empathy.

“Yeah..yeah, that's right. This hunt doesn't really have an impact on the binding ceremony. And-” he stumbles as he glances distractedly over his shoulder, into the trees beyond. “-your clans will be proud whether you return with anything or not.”

Relief begins to timidly mix with the fear on the kids' faces, the exception being Destin. A bitter look grows in his eyes. For the first time of the night, his voice drops below a shout; he whispers just loud enough to be heard by Hiccup.

“If that's true, why is _your_ clan so embarrassed of _you_?”

Hiccup's eyes widen, shocked at the animosity of his tone. This kid must be more insecure than Hiccup originally suspected. He's not going to listen to reason. _I've got to speak his language if I want him to run._ Hiccup leans in closer to the boy, lowering his voice.

“Oh, maybe for now. But once I lead our hunt safely away from the dangerous, backfired plan of Dagur, of all people. Well.” Hiccup attempts a malicious grin. “I think that's gonna be worth something, don't you agree?”

Destin takes a step back, gaping. “Y-you!”

“M-me?!” Hiccup echoes back at him.

The boy's regular angry defiance returns. “You won't take my credit! I led this hunt more than you did!”

“Is that so?”

Destin's eyebrows furrow so much, Hiccup thinks they may just pop off. He spins on his heels and starts shouting commands to the group. As soon as they realize that they're heading home, the response is unanimous. Within moments, the kids have grabbed their belongings, stamped out the fire, and begun their trudge out of the forest. As Destin reaches the edge of the clearing, he turns and gives Hiccup a condescending smirk. Hiccup does his best impression of a man thoroughly flabbergasted. It seems to be good enough for the kid, as he promptly turns and resumes his place at the front of the pack.

For a brief instance, Hiccup feels a small sense of pride; he quickly quashes it. _You fooled an eleven year old. Regular genius, you are._

Once again, Hiccup finds himself watching torchlight growing dimmer in the distance. This time, he could easily keep pace. But their group is still one short. He turns away from the flickering lights and walks back in the direction from which he'd come.

Tonight, he has been scared so consistently, for so long, he wonders what one more terror inducing incident could possibly do to him?

The ghoul is far beyond what Dagur had dared hope. It is monstrous, strong. Horrendously deformed.

Persistent. _So. Very. Persistent._

It had pounced upon Dagur twice already, but refused to let the fight escalate. Just as Dagur finds his happy place, his zen, it retreats back into the shadows. It refuses him the rhythm of battle. The rage built in Dagur until it's third attack, when he finally managed to land a hit on it's back haunch. The hide is so thick, its' snapped his axe-blade from the shaft, leaving him with only splintered wood.. He hopes it is still in the beast, so he can retrieve it later. It's his favorite ax.

Dagur reaches down to drag two fingers though stained leaves. There's plenty of blood on the ground here; it must have abandoned the treetops. The wound is so deep it cannot climb. Dagur brings his coated digits to his eye level; the gentle light of the early sun soaks through the woods, allowing him to better admire the deep, thick red. He can't help but let out a satisfied giggle as he rubs the fingers together. This is so much more fun than a trap. He feels better than he's ever been. This is where he's meant to be; the hunter, pursuing a panicked, weakened prey. He wishes to be in this moment, forever.

He only realizes his error as he feels a warm droplet land on the back of his neck.

He barely has time to glance up before it has him.

The woods are gradually growing lighter, both in color and density. The sun lifts the moisture from wide patches of ground to form a fine mist; it casts Hiccup's surroundings in a soft blue. It could be very picturesque, if not for the horrifying screaming and howling that has just erupted a short distance through the evergreens. Hiccup attempts to pick up his pace, but finds this to be wildly ineffective. His legs are wracked with exhaustion; they threaten to give away and send him plummeting down the hill he is currently descending.

The shouting, at least, indicates that Dagur is still kicking. But for how much longer?

As he shuffles clumsily down the last bit of slope, Hiccup finds the tiniest, worst part of himself, the most cowardly bit, almost longing for Dagur's death to be quick. To find him passed already, so Hiccup can leave the beast to it's meal and let the vengeful chiefs handle the situation. He nearly doubles over from the wave of disgust that hits him.

No. Absolutely not. He didn't waltz back into the ghoul's range for the fun of it. He's got to distract it, or delay it. Or fight it-

It suddenly occurs to Hiccup that he never retrieved his dagger upon waking. He calmly continues forward, pushing through the underbrush in a totally organized fashion. He definitely isn't panicking.

_Alright, so death it is! Neat. NEAT! That's totally fi-_

His thoughts plummet into the unintelligible. Just ahead, where the trees give completely away to brush, the ghoul sits on its hind legs, it's back to Hiccup. The soft light isn't doing it any favors; the horrific nature of it's deformities are much more apparent. It is truly, truly black. One could easily mistake it for a charred corpse. Scattered across it's back, limbs, and neck are various growths of skin and tissue. The muscles of it's legs are defined, yet grotesquely stretched. It's left leg is drenched in dark liquid. The head of an axe, decorated in fur totems, is buried deep within.

A shuffling motion is heard from it's front; it puts an arm to the ground to support itself. As it leans, Hiccup barely holds back a gasp; the movement has revealed a booted foot, struggling for purchase on flattened brush. The beast lets out a now familiar, but muffled, growl, and shakes its head back and forth rapidly. The prey lets out an all too familiar howl.

Hiccup remains frozen for what feels like hours, though looking back, he will know it was mere seconds. The shock of the scene has wiped his brain of all thought, his heart of all emotion. The soft noises of a waking forest fade until all he can hear is the pounding of his own heart. His blood feels unbearably hot and deathly cold, his flesh morbidly heavy and feather light. He gives his body no commands. And yet it crouches, picks up a weighty stone from the ground.

A breath later, it ricochets off the back of the beasts head.

It drops to all fours and circle to face him. It's jaw is clamped around Dagur's shoulder, and it violently drags him as it turns. His mouth opens in a cry that Hiccup does not hear. He struggles futilely to loosen himself, though he doesn't have to attempt for long; the ghoul drops him carelessly. Strings of blood and saliva drip from its teeth, following Dagur to the ground. It's pupils dilate from fine, snake-like slits until the green of it's eyes is swallowed in black. It prowls, almost cat-like, over his body towards Hiccup.

The beast opens it mouth wider in a fierce motion, and the resulting scream breaks through the silence all at once.

Hiccup is sent sprinting back towards the slope.

He can barely think as the blurry shapes of foliage fly by him. His feet slide through mud with each panicked step. As the ground inclines ahead of him, he hears a heavy, uneven gait rapidly gaining. He won't beat it up the slope. Thinking quick, Hiccup slides into a sharp turn.

His soul nearly leaves his body as he feels a breeze on his back. The sensation is followed by a shriek and large thud as it hits the ground, presumably trying to push off it's wounded limb. Hiccup's heart clenches with some unknown emotion. He does not stop. 

Apparently, neither does it, as there is barely a respite before it continues to crash through the forest after him.

Hiccup is unsure how far he makes it before he lurches, stumbling over something. In catching himself, he gets a glimpse of the thing reaching for him with grasping claws, fury in it's eyes.

Hiccup desperately throws himself around a tree. His outer layer catches on something, and he is pulled backwards. He turns, hands reaching to free himself from the branch, but his fingers brush warmth; with a gasp, he ducks out of the furs, abandoning them to their fate.

Exhaustion is catching up to Hiccup even quicker than the ghoul. He can feel his knees give away more with every stride; his breathing is turning to stuttered gasps. For the second time today, he is sure this moment is his last.

As soon as the thought passes his mind, Hiccup is sent plummeting to the ground, face first.

He scrambles madly, attempting to crawl back up, but a heavy weight holds his left ankle in place. Thick, wet breathing cuts the air behind him. He tries pulling himself forward once more, and is struck with despair. The weight has tightened into an unmistakable grip. Sharp pricks of pain pierce his saturated boot. Hiccup flips over and confirms; locked around his now awkwardly placed leg is a thick, calloused hand. In the dappled light, the growths on the skin shimmer, almost like tiny shells. He locks his vision on the spot, unwilling to look at what lies beyond the blackened arm. 

Immediately, he is forced to confront it; he is yanked towards it in a swift motion. In less than a blink, the hold on his ankle is gone and replaced on his chest. The beast hovers over him, maw glistening with copper. It's mouth is, somehow, twisted further beyond it's terrifying proportions into something resembling a grimace. The eyes no longer hold any semblance of recognition, no hint of a question; they are dark, dark, as dark as drowning, dark as suffocating. He is suffocating. He is helpless. Soon this will be over. Soon, everything will be over.

For the first time in a very long time, Hiccup feels tears spill from his eyes, and he no longer sees a reason to hold them back.

So Hiccup cries in earnest. Each sob pushes painfully against the weight on his chest, but he barely notices. He cries out in grief, terror, relief, and exhaustion. He cries for everything that has passed and everything that he will lose now to death. He cries until he is no longer sure how long he has cried. He cries until he feels the weight on his chest fade away to nothing, and then cries some more.

Some minutes pass, and Hiccup begins to realizes that he is very much not dead. After gulping a few dry breaths, he sits himself up. His vision, though blurred, can make out the ghoul crouching in front of him, an arm extended, frozen. It's hand is open with fingers slightly curled. Hiccup's ruined furs hang limply from the claws. It's eyes betray it's shock.

It's _shock._

Hiccup rapidly blinks away the last of his tears. There's no mistaking; across the ghoul's face lies a smattering of emotions. Fear, confusion, apprehension. Hiccup shifts further upright, never breaking eye contact. It lets out gurgle and leans _away._

This can't be real.

In what must surely be a symptom of coming madness, Hiccup slowly raises his hand towards it's extended claws. It retracts its arm towards it's chest and growls loudly, brandishing it's bloody teeth. Hiccup quickly drops his arm back to his side. His eyes dart down to his furs, gripped firmly in it's claws. He returns them to the ghoul's face as he tries to envision an escape. Gobber definitely never covered this situation in his lessons. Maybe he should cry again? That seemed to work.

The ghoul lessens his snarl and glances towards his chest. It's claws flex a few times around the furs. It stares at Hiccup, some mixture of unreadable emotion in it's eyes. Gods, they are so green. They flawlessly match the sunlit leaves of the surrounding bushes. With only thin lines for pupils, the color leaps at Hiccup from amidst the dark tones of it's skin. Hiccup's attention is drawn away only when it starts to reach towards him.

Hiccup's heart leaps back into high gear, shaking his core once again. He scrambles back for a brief moment, only to realize that the ghouls reach is not outpacing him. It is slow and careful. Hiccup wills himself to not recoil further. It's hand nearly reaches Hiccup face before it pauses, loosening it's claws. It remains still.

Hiccup looks towards it's face, and sees it staring at it's extended limb with confusion and frustration. It shakes it arm firmly above Hiccup's lap and lets out a soft, but forceful huff. It repeats the action, seeming to grow more agitated. It begins to flex it's claws in varying motions.

Hiccup, aghast, reaches up and grabs the end of the furs. The ghoul freezes as it feels the resistance to it's motions, returning it's gaze to Hiccup. Hand shaking, Hiccup begins to loose the tattered furs from it's claws. The third one snags badly, and Hiccup is forced to use both hands. Within moments, Hiccup holds his lost layer in his lap. The ghoul sits back in a crouch, moving his limb freely in front of his face. It lets out another small noise, seeming almost pleased.

Hiccup lets out a small breath as well, and feels a delirious, uncontrolled grin grace his face. What in Thor's name is happening?

The ghoul's head tilts, observing Hiccup. It's wide, gaping mouth begins to stretch further with a quiver, exposing it's teeth once again. The image is a horrifying mimicry of Hiccup's own expression, yet he can't bring himself to be disgusted. It's copying him. It's communicating. It's not mindless. This is huge. Is it unique to it's kind, or are all ghouls able to be reasoned with? The implications cause Hiccup to shake in excitement and horror. He tries once more, lifting his hand slowly towards it.

It's attempt at a grin drops into a small snarl, but it doesn't flinch away. Hiccup holds briefly, waiting as it's expression becomes neutral, but warning. Hiccup unsure of what he is attempting, slowly turns his face away, leaving his hand extended.

Several long moments pass with only the sound of his own breathing to calm Hiccup. Then he hears the shifting of leaves, and he imagines the ghoul leaning forward again, hand reaching, towards his own.

There are a few heavy beats against the ground, then Hiccup's hand is drenched in warmth and wet.

He whips his head around. The ghoul is leaning towards him, it's mouth hanging open. A large piece of splintered haft pierces through it's skull, it's maw, and back out the bottom of it's jaw. It lets out a garbled, wet cry and blood leaps through it's teeth. It's eyes drip with pain and fear. Hiccup mouth opens to release a horrified scream, but no sound escapes him. Within a breath, the light leaves its eyes, and it slumps to the ground in front of Hiccup.

Standing over it, Dagur lets out a victory howl.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Man, this chapter took forever to write. I kept going back and editing and editing, I feel like if I don't post it rn it will be edited forever haha. As alway, C&C is welcome. Thanks for reading!


	5. Chapter 5

As maniacal, boyish laughter saturates the forest, Hiccup barely manages to turn himself away from the visceral scene before his body involuntarily quakes. He digs his fingers roughly into the earth, trying to control dry heaves that threaten to expel what little remains in his stomach. For quite a time, it is all Hiccup can do to keep pulling air into his lungs. Finally, the tremors calm, and he begins to regain his senses.

Behind him, Hiccup can vaguely hear Dagur shouting and carrying on. His hands come into focus; both are covered in dirt and scratches, the left in smothered in a vicious red. Hiccup clenches his eyes shut, fighting back the tremors once more. He purposefully turns his head up, towards the trees ahead, before reopening them. He tries to focus on anything but the corpse he knows lays behind him; he breathes deeply, expecting crisp morning air, but instead gets a lungful of iron. Tension gathers behind his eyes, and he shudders again.

“-well, it got what it deserved in the end, couldn't handle two of us! Wow, the rest of them really missed out! Hahahaha!” Dagur chortles. He pauses, then continues, voice trembling. “They left, but you...you came back.”

Hiccup slowly realizes the white noise behind him has gone silent, waiting for a response.

“Uh- yeah. Yeah I...I did.” Hiccup says distractedly. Why did he do that, again?

He is roughly grabbed by the shoulders, stood up, and spun to face Dagur. His face is as filthy as Hiccup's hands; his tattoo is barely visible. Somewhere in the scuffle, he had lost his helmet; his red hair appears brown under layers of mud and pine needles. Piercing through the muck is his usual unsettling grin, and two bright, unbearably excited eyes. 

“You saved me!”

Hiccup blinks, unsure what response Dagur is looking for. He continues to stare, energy unwavering. Hiccup gambles on a forced smile; his facial muscles twitch as though they had forgotten how, he is sure the results are unappealing. This seems to be enough, because Dagur's grin somehow grows wider, almost mimicking the ghoul's attempt. Hiccup's stomach twists.

“And I saved you! You know what that means?” he asks, gripping Hiccup's shoulders tighter. As he does, fresh blood leaks from several gaping holes.

“Oh my gods, your shoulder.” Hiccup gasps.

“We're battle-bound! Brothers in arms! ” Dagur nearly shouts. He turns Hiccup and pulls him in, pressing their sides together. As Dagur's wounded arm moves snuggly around Hiccup's neck, he can feel grime squish between their bare skin. He squirms with disgust, but it only amplifies the sensation. “Imagine the stories! Two young warriors, unbound, slaying the mightiest ghoul seen in decades! HOHOHOHOh! We should collect matching trophies!” He turns, and Hiccup is helplessly dragged with him.

Hiccup gets a glimpse of the ghouls empty eyes; he immediately ducks out of Dagur's grip and turns on his heel, intending to walk as far as his exhausted body will take him. He makes it a step before a sharp pain pierces his ankle. His leg collapses, and he can't help but cry out as his knees hit the ground.

There is blessed silence, for a moment. Hiccup pulls his foot from underneath him, glancing it over; his boot was sliced where the ghoul gripped him. Blood seeps through the layers of fur, rendering them permanently crimson. Hiccup stares numbly, praying that it will simply disappear if he pretends it doesn't exist. Maybe this whole night, too, will fade away if he tries.

Before he can get anywhere with that, a firm grip returns to his upper arm; for what seems like the thousandth time today, Hiccup is lifted from the ground.

“There you go, on your feet, brother.” Dagur says, slightly quieter than before.

Hiccup attempts to steady himself on both legs, but ends up using Dagur for balance. He knows that the appropriate thing would be to say thank you, but the image of Dagur howling atop the mangled copse off the ghoul leaps to the forefront of his mind. Hiccup's stomach clenches painfully, and begins to pull away.

Before he can, a sharp shout cuts through the trees. Both of their heads snap up towards the noise; several dark form are creeping from behind the trees. Dagur's hand tenses temporarily around Hiccup's arm, but it becomes rapidly clear that the approaching shapes are humanoid, and in fact, are very familiar.

Within moments, there are a dozen Defenders standing before them in organized rows. They shift about, craning their heads to stare where the ghoul lies, but they make no moves to leave their formation. The last to appear from the trees approaches the front of the group, sunlight glinting gold off the top of her head. 

Even Mala, with her flawless composure, cannot cover her shock at the bloody scene. She makes a vague motion to the other warriors and, in an instant, they filter around the boys to surround the corpse. 

“You're alright.” Mala breathes, finally turning to Dagur.

“Mala!” Dagur walks towards her, arms outstretched; Hiccup nearly falls at the loss of support. He grimaces, lowering himself to the ground slowly as to not attract the attention of the couple. On second thought, that might be better than the reunion taking place. Dagur grabs Mala by the waist and is, honest to the Gods, _whispering_ in some sickly sweet tone. She giggles in response, smacking his hands lightly, but not offering any real resistance.

So this is the two unsupervised. Wow. _Okay, not what I was expecting_. Hiccup, having been thoroughly scarred enough this evening, opts to turn his attention to the Defenders behind him. That is, until he sees sabers drawn, puncturing hide; he jerks his head back towards his front as his insides swirl with guilt. Wait, guilt? That is _not_ right. Unfortunately, the sensation is only strengthened by it being the improper reaction; Hiccup stares purposefully at the ground, focusing on numbing himself. Soon he'll be at home in bed. And then a week more of exhaustion. His heart sinks, and the exercise is rendered moot.

“-get you patched up, look at the state of you.” Hiccup hears Mala say.

“You should have seen it in action, babe!” Dagur says excitedly. _Babe? Really._ “It was fast as lightning, and cunning to boot! I can't believe it got the drop on me.”

Hiccup glances up in time to see Mala back away a step, brow clenched with disapproval. “No one should attempt to fight any ghoul individually, let alone one so old. What were you thinking?”

“Oh I wasn't alone! Hiccup drew the beast away so I could land the killing blow!” Dagur says loudly, getting riled up once more. “I wasn't expecting anyone to have the gumption to join me, but lo and behold! HAHAHA! ” He turns, grinning, to look where Hiccup was previously standing; Mala follows suit, confused, before finding him on the forest floor. Hiccup tries to muster the appropriate expression or greeting, but finds himself unable to do anything but stare back. Her eyes flash with some emotion; Hiccup may be mistaken, but they appeared to soften.

Fortunately, a warrior interrupts. “Lady Mala, we've confirmed; the ghoul was slain before we arrived.” they report.

Mala gives them a swift nod. “Excellent. We're heading back to Berk. Your squadron will carry the body; the other will scout ahead and inform the chieftains of our return.” 

Ah, right. The Council, and his father, will be standing in wait. They will surely want a full report once they arrive home. Hiccup is nearly overwhelmed with a fresh wave of exhaustion.

The dark cloaked warrior nods, and turns to distribute orders. Nearly instantly, half of the warriors take off into the trees.

Mala pulls a strip of cloth from somewhere beneath her robes and takes hold of Dagur's arm. “I don't have anything else on me, but this will hold the bleeding until we reach the Wingmaidens.” she says, wrapping his wound firmly.

Dagur's features tighten almost imperceptibly. If Mala notices, she says nothing, tying off her work with a sturdy knot.

“We're a couple rests* from the forest's edge, can you make it that far?” 

“Of course!” Dagur laughs, scoffing.

Mala raises an eyebrow and gives Dagur a knowing smirk. She then steps towards Hiccup and crouches, reaching down. It takes Hiccup a moment to register what she's offering. As he glances between her extended hand and her face, both are open and gentle. Upon accepting, he is immediately and fiercely pulled into a standing position. The force nearly sends Hiccup toppling into her. Instinctively, he just catches himself; he clenches his eyes shut as pain strikes through his lower leg again.

“You're wounded.” Mala says. 

_Yeah, no shit._ Hiccup takes a few deep breathes though his nose and reopens his eyes. Mala is looking over his shoulder, clearly in thought; after a moment, she turns away from him and bends at the knees. She then places his arms around her shoulders, grabs him beneath his thighs, and lifts him fully off the ground. Hiccup desperately grasps her shoulders, preventing himself plummeting backwards.

“UHM-! Wh-what are you doing?” Hiccup stammers, shocked.

“The rest of my party are preoccupied currently, and you are in no state to walk, correct? We must make haste back to your home; you both need healing and rest before tomorrow's ceremony.” Mala replies.

“Uh, no. -I mean yes, but, I can walk.”

Mala huffs. “Honestly, what is with you boys? You act as though there is shame in feeling pain.”

Hiccup would say that shame is only one of many uncomfortable emotions he is currently experiencing. He flashes a careful look at Dagur, but needn't be concerned; he is currently staring at Mala with a huge grin.

“Oh, my Maly-pie is is strong _and_ beautiful!” Dagur croons, moving towards the two.

_Maly-pie?_

Mala chuckles, and takes a step dangerously close to Dagur. “Only the best for the best, Daggy-bear.”

Hiccup suddenly feels he may dry heave again. “Oh my Gods- Please, I am, right here. Like _right_ here.” he pleads.

“Ah, right, we should...Ahem.” Mala clears her throat and turns to the warriors who remain. “Defenders! We're moving out.”

As the group begins their trek, Dagur stares at Mala with some expression that Hiccup is not willing to dissect. He turns his head the other way, and pretends he is anywhere else.

The forest is thinning. The overcast sky is now unobstructed; hard shadows soften into feathered shade. The great pines, which previously hindered their progress, have become smaller, and their imposing limbs no longer cross into one another, forming sturdy blockades to navigate around. Instead, natural resistance has given away fully. Even the ground has become a soft carpet of brown needles; a spacious path between trunks guides them to the forest's edge. It is as though the forest is welcoming them back. 

But as terrible as the night has been, and no matter how desperately he wants to sleep, and despite the awkward position he currently finds himself in, Hiccup wishes the trek could last just a while longer. The thought of recounting the events of the evening to demanding councilmen causes tension anew behind his eyes. For the hundredth time in the past hour, it takes all Hiccup's willpower not to rest his head on Mala's shoulder.

“Nearly there! I can see them!” Dagur shouts, pointing somewhere in the distance. Hiccup tips his head from behind Mala's, but sees no hint of movement ahead. Well, apart from Dagur; he turns from his spot ahead and prances excitedly back to Mala. How does he still have energy to spare?

Hiccup barely has time to ponder before Dagur nearly slams his head into his. Hiccup leans away sharply; thankfully, Mala adjusts, handling the strange balancing act with perceived ease.

“Hiccup! Get ready to tell your side of the battle! The two of us will spin a yarn worthy of poetry!”

Now that exhaustion has fully taken the reigns, Hiccup is inclined to respond with irritation. He presses his tongue between his teeth and tenses, barely biting back a retort that would cause his father to give reparations to the Beserkers.

“Dagur, dear, we're moving slow,” Mala says. “Why don't you run ahead and let them know we're on our way?”

Dagur's eyes glint with mild confusion, then puppy-like joy. “Yeah? Hiccup, you don't mind if I get the story started, do you?”

_Oh thank gods._ “No, not at all.” Hiccup manages to croak out.

Dagur is already fathoms away as the last word leaves Hiccup's mouth. In moments, he is out of sight. Mala shakes her head lightly, then stops in her tracks, side-stepping to face her warriors. Hiccup keeps his eyes to Mala's shoulder blades, unwilling to catch even a glance of what they carry.

“Continue on. We'll be but a moment.”

There is silence; the confusion Hiccup feels is reflected in the momentary non-response from the party. After a few staggered confirmations, they pass.

Once they are several paces ahead, Mala breaks the lingering silence. 

“Hold on, I'm going to release your legs.”

Hiccup hangs tightly as she slowly lowers him back to the ground. When he feels his feet touch down, he makes to remove his arms from around her shoulders; instead, Mala turns, grips his wrist firmly, and places her arm around his waist. Hiccup feels heat rise to his face, and opens his mouth to protest. She intercepts him with purpose.

“I apologize for any discomfort the return journey has caused, but I imagine in comparison to the rest of the evening, it was mild.”

“What are you talking about? Tonight was the highlight of my life.” Hiccup blurts out sarcastically. He immediately slaps his hand to his mouth in terror. To his shock, Mala responds with a surprised laugh. Ahead, a warrior turns their head slightly. Mala quickly quiets herself.

“Don't feel restrained, Hiccup. Only a fool would think of a confrontation with a ghoul as a fun event.”

Hiccup can't help but look at her, wondering if she's messing with him. She gazes fondly ahead for a moment, then looks down at him with intent. “Lets walk the rest of the way. We wouldn't want to mislead anyone as to the severity of your injury.”, she says meaningfully.

Hiccup cheeks somehow grow even warmer. Is he really so transparent?

Mala steps slowly as he hops awkwardly beside her. The height difference between them makes for a slow pace, and the rest of the party is soon far ahead. With each labored, painful step, he is more grateful for the arm supporting him, and more unsure of the reasoning for it. Though Hiccup is not one for small talk, the silence grows long, and he feels he must fill it.

“I wouldn't expect a Defender to be so...open. About hunts.” he clarifies.

“Being responsible for slaying possessed clansmen does not make us unrealistic.” She responds. “It is an important duty, one that we accept with pride, but a face-to-face encounter with any ghoul is taxing. This one...” she trails off. Hiccup waits as she gathers her thoughts. “Well, let me say this. I am thankful that I did not witness it in motion.”

Mala's unabashed admittance of fear has Hiccup reeling a bit. He wonders if all Defenders speak so freely, or if it is simply a result of her future station as queen. For a moment, something possesses him.

“Mala, have you ever fought a ghoul that is still...present?” he asks.

“...Present?”

“Like. Uhm. Like they can still communicate.”

“Oh.” Mala breathes. “Yes, of course. There are instances when a host still resists the spirit. In the best case scenario, we can return control of the bind to the person. However, those cases would not yet be classified as ghouls; they would not show any physical signs, only emotional and social indicators. Irritation, irrationality, paranoia.” she gives small chuckle. “Of course, it's quite difficult to identify those signs among the clans.”

Hiccup knows these things, and was not referring to such instances, but is suddenly afraid of being understood. He makes a small noise of comprehension, hoping that his reputation makes his lack of knowledge unsurprising.

Ahead, there is a muffled, continuous rumbling. The two of them quiet, listening for a moment, before Hiccup recognizes the sound.

“Is that...” he trails off.

Mala nods. “A crowd. It appears word of the hunt's success has spread.”

Distracted by this unfortunate development, Hiccup accidentally locks his knee. Before he can catch himself again, Mala has tightened her grip and pulled him back upright. Hiccup glances at her sheepishly, ready to thank her; she squeezes his hand lightly.

“I'll stay with you until we reach the Wingmaidens; it would be ill-mannered of me to bring you this far and not insure you are properly treated.”

No one would dare approach the heir of the Defender's without proper address.

Hiccup is suddenly sure a thank you is not enough.

The mob of people, drawn to the forest's edge at the promise of excitement, have not been disappointed. Men, women, and children all squabble and shout in a tight knot, struggling to move between the many points of interest. Some surround the stoic Defenders, attempting to parse valuable information out of sealed lips. Some are preoccupied with the returned hunters; they leap about, recounting their boring, uninformed versions of the hunt. The corpse, understandably, maintains an iron grip on a majority of the assembled; it may very well be the most deformed ghoul that this generation has ever laid eyes on. With this considered, Dagur is exceedingly proud to have captured the second largest audience.

“-the thing leapt from the trees, tossing me to the ground! Before I could even begin to right myself, it surrounded my shoulder with massive jaws, and sank it's teeth clean through my armor and into flesh!”

Dagur flexes the affected arm for emphasis, grinning at the litany of squeals as his wounds seep anew.

“Ugh! Dagur, _seriously_?” A slight smack sends his head lolling forward.

He shifts from where he's seated to meet the scolding with a grin. “I'm just adding to the visual interest!”

Heather rolls her eyes in exasperation, but there's no fire behind it. She doesn't respond, instead turning to the brunette next to her.

“I'm so sorry, Minden. What's next?”

“Oh, no worries, sometimes this happens. We can't use bind-fire when the ointment is saturated, so we'll just remove what we've placed already and apply pressure again.”

Avoiding his sister's classic death-glare, Dagur returns his attention to his audience. The youngest of the group sit and kneel in the dirt around his seat. Somehow, in the seconds he looked away, they have dragged themselves even closer to him; they are so tightly packed he can hardly tell where one ends and the next begins. The standing adults struggle to occupy the space their children abandoned, elbowing and shouldering each other out of the way. All of them look to Dagur, wonder in their eyes and questions on their lips.

The perfection of the scene would bring him to tears if he didn't have a performance to finish.

“How did you escape?!” A young girl squawks. 

“He killed it, duh! Tell us how you slayed it Dagur!”

As Dagur plans his next words, his stomach unexpectedly squirms. He quickly smothers the feeling with enthusiastic storytelling.

“The thing dug it's teeth in tighter. And tighter. And tighter.” For emphasis, he clenches his fist with each repetition. “I was dragged across the ground by it's unyielding grip; it was seeking an opening to land a killing blow, but I would not allow it! I fought back, holding off every attempt to unbalance me! But it's endurance was unmatched, and I knew that only Thor could hold out against such a foe.”

Dagur briefly registers a Wingmaiden forcing his shoulder into a resting position. He allows it, knowing that resisting would lead to another scolding from his sister, as well as put off the readily approaching twist of the story.

“I was out of breath, losing blood.” Dagur says with intensity. “Losing strength. But, just as I was to join the warriors of Valhalla, the beast was struck from behind!”

The energy of the group grows more chaotic; countless eyes beg for him to continue. Dagur just can't help but revel in the control for a moment. He takes his time, feigning interest in the Wingmaiden's work on his arm, then acknowledging the rest councilmen, who have just joined the group. Just as he's about to take pity on the lot of them, someone caves and prompts him.

“Earlier _you_ claimed to slay it.”

Dagur scowls. Who dares accuse him of lying? He scans about as he responds, but the speaker is no longer distinguishable. 

“I did! I said it was struck, not slain.” Dagur barks out to the whole of the assembled. He feels that familiar rush of frustration; they must be a coward if don't have the balls to accuse him openly!

“Oh, I misunderstood.”

This time, he locates the speaker, and frustration is replaced with disdain. The Outcast heir, of all people. As though _he_ has any authority to question Dagur.

The teen bows his head slightly; his dirt-blonde hair dips below his hips at the action. “Apologies, I didn't mean to imply.”

Dagur snorts, glancing towards the clustered councilmen. “Of course you didn't.” He responds, hoping that Alvin can understand scorn when it's directed to him. 

There is a light pressure on Dagur's shoulder; he turns to the Wingmaiden at his arm.

She whispers, “we're ready to use bindfire. Do you want privacy?”

Dagur quirks an eyebrow. “Privacy? For what?”

She shoots a look to Heather. Dagur does as well, hoping she'll provide an answer. Instead, she shrugs to the woman. “He's had this done before. Like, a lot.”

“...Alright,” she says. “then prepare yourself.”

As the burning, pulling sensation saturates his torn flesh, Dagur is finally allowed to return to the story. So many interruptions. Unfortunately, the most involved listeners are currently staring, open mouthed, at the white flames flickering across his arm. Well, that checks out; these kids haven't had any wounds worthy of Wingmaiden flame; they are likely in awe of the uniqueness. Dagur is momentarily struck with fierce pride for his sister's future station, but he quashes it. No more distractions! 

“So, anyway, as I was saying. The beast was struck from behind!” To Dagur's delight, the onlookers' eyes snap back to attention instantly. “It hauled me around to face it's attacker, then dropped me without a thought. The release caused me to bleed severely, and I was unable to move as it prowled over top of me. But as I lay there, incapacitated, the morning fog parted to reveal the identity of my rescuer...my battle-brother...my-”

“Oh, quit stalling!”

“Who was it?!”

“Come on, Dagur!”

Dagur grins as their demands overlap, growing frenzied. Oh, maybe he can make them wait a bit longer. The temptation is just too...

He spies a _very_ familiar blonde through the moving crowd.

“Hiccup!”, he shouts.

The shouting falls away to silence.

“......What?” says someone.

“HICCUP!” Dagur stands on his seat, waving frantically over the rows of heads. “MALA! OVER HERE!”

The crowd shuffles about, confused, and parts were Dagur looks. There, Mala stands tall, composed and elegant as ever, absolutely flawless! In stark contrast, Hiccup leans heavily against her, covered in the muck of battle. Without his extra layers, his scrawny nature is even more pronounced. Oh, what a funny pair they make currently! 

Dagur ignores the protesting Wingmaidens and leaps from the log, jogging down the center of the group. He reaches the two just as he passes the last of them.

“You're right on time, brother! I just told them how you lured the beast away!” he says, grinning. “Come sit down; you can tell what happened on your end.” He moves to take Hiccup's other arm over his shoulder, but it is instantly out of reach. 

“No. I don't-. I'm not..uh-” 

Dagur looks back up to meet the boy's eyes, but he looks pointedly away. Dagur follows his gaze, right to Mala.

“Dagur, surely you can finish the tale. We must find a Wingmaiden as soon as possible.” Mala says.

“Oh, there's some over there!” Dagur gestures happily from where he came. “Come on then!”

Mala and Hiccup exchange a glance; Dagur is momentarily thrown for a loop, before he realizes. He leans in to quietly speak.

“Ah, there's no need for concern; I'm not so sensitive that I can't share credit! Don't worry about upstaging me, you two!”

They stare back at him, clearly stunned; Dagur mentally pats himself on the back. They didn't expect to be uncovered so easily!

Dagur turns, and his nose is met with a solid mass of coarse fur. No, not fur; definitely a beard. Dagur follows the red up and...oh.

The King has graced them with his presence. 

Dagur takes a step back. “Ah, hello!”

Stoick stares at him for several long moments. Long enough that he starts to feel fidgety. Ugh, what is this guy waiting for? It's as if...OH!

“- I mean, greetings, Lord Stoick.” Dagur corrects himself, bowing his head.

The massive man nods formally back, and Dagur can't help but thrill at being addressed as an equal.

Stoick speaks, his voice clear; it carries well beyond Dagur. “Congratulations are in order for your victorious hunt. Your ghoul is far more advanced than any seen in recent memory. Queen Atali hopes that you'll allow her people the day to study it before taking your trophies.”

A rush of irritation flies through Dagur. He was fully intending to carve off the best bits now, and he doesn't trust the Wingmaidens to not scrape off some samples for their magic. He gets the urge to let his feelings be known, but holds his tongue; his father will have his hide if he pisses off the Council before he's even a true member.

In any case, he can just tell Heather to keep the ladies' hands off their loot. Speaking of which.

Dagur takes a step to the side. “That's just fine with me, how about you, brother?”

There's another strange silence. Huh, lots of those today!

Dagur turns his head to fully look at Hiccup. His eyes dart around at such high speed, Dagur wonders if he's even seeing anything. His eyebrows twitch and shift with every motion. Though his arm is no longer around Mala's shoulders, Dagur can just see her gripping the back of it, keeping weight of the wound. 

“...I don't need...I mean, I didn't-uh..” After some hesitation, he makes a halfhearted stabbing gesture.

Laughter bursts from Dagur, and he can't help but close the distance between them. 

“That doesn't matter, Hiccup! Your actions set up the killing blow!” Dagur gives him an affectionate smack across the shoulder. “Mala, do you only praise the Defender who lands the final hit?”

Mala smiles in her restrained, public way, but her eyes glimmer with warmth. Dagur only blushes a little. 

“Of course not.”

“See! There.” Dagur plants his hands firmly on his hips. “That's that.”

He faces Stoick again. He is staring, rather intensely, at Hiccup.

“You don't refuse such a gracious offer.” he states.

Annoyance flares in Dagur's chest. It's not an _offer_. It's a given. Does the King of the Wilderwest not know how hunts work? Berks customs aren't that different from Beserks.

“Uhm, Right. Then that's-. That's fine by me.” Hiccup says. Dagur's frustration is smothered instantaneously. Great! Maybe now, they can finally finish the-

“Lady Mala. We owe you a debt for assisting in Hiccup's return. I pray you'll permit me to repay you at a later time.” Stoick says, stepping forward to take Hiccup's arm.

“Many thanks, but please, don't fret.” Mala responds, stepping away. “I was simply doing my duty as a Defender.”

Stoick gives a light smile, barely visible beneath his beard. “Still, I hope you'll accept a drink at tonight's feast.”

The two bow lightly to one another, and Dagur is filled with a cacophony of unidentifiable emotions. Whatever they are, the mix is unpleasant. 

“If you would do one more thing for us...”

“Of course. How can I assist?” 

“I'm taking Hiccup home. Please request that Queen Atali send Wingmaidens to see to his wounds.”

“Ah, that's really not necessary.” Hiccup sputters. “We're already here, I can just-”

Stoick looks down at his son, his eyes visibly darker. 

“You need to rest if you want to attend tonight's feast. This is not the place for it.” 

“Ah, right. Okay. Yeah.”

Dagur is once again lost and uncomfortable. He looks to Mala, hoping she'll provide clarity. She does one better, breaking the tension by clearing her throat lightly. “I will seek her out immediately.” She bows her head once more to the two Berkians, then gives Dagur the same; as her face lifts, her eyes dance with playful light. Dagur returns the farewell, a slow grin spreading across his face. She turns on her heel, and Dagur follows her lithe figure until she disappears among the townsfolk. 

“We'll take our leave as well.” Stoick says, drawing Dagur's attention back. His memory is suddenly jogged.

“Oh! Before you go, I have something of yours, brother!” 

Hiccup blinks a few times eyebrows slightly furrowed. “Something of mine?”

Dagur nods and prepares to go fetch it, but Stoick speaks first.

“You can return it at the feast.” he says sharply. 

Dagur won't deny; he deflates a bit. You know, for being the mediator of the Council, the King sure does interrupt people a lot. Dagur bites back an urge to argue; instead, he gives his most convincing smile, and nods his head.

“I'll hang on to it until then.”

Stoick nods stiffly, and directs Hiccup away; within moments they are ascending the hill to Berk, and Dagur is alone. Well, alone as he can be with the hordes of people. But no one is engaging him, and he knows that it will be only moments before he starts getting introspective on the events of the night. Ugh. No thank you!

He heads hurriedly back where he originally sat, but most of his audience has wandered away. Only the dedicated young remain. Even they have grown bored; they fight among themselves and scribble in the dirt. As he approaches, they start to rouse. Dagur raises his hands.

“Sorry kids, you'll have to wait to hear the rest. The second party is resting.” he says, a little bitterly.

After a several minutes of whining, and with Dagur's assurance that the tale will be finished at the feast, they wander off, dejected. Dagur remains, feeling thoroughly satisfied. Nothing like keeping them hanging!

“Hey, asshole. Way to make our job harder.”

Dagur smirks, turning towards the voice; Heather tosses her bag to the ground, plopping onto the fallen tree he previously occupied.

“You really couldn't sit still for a few minutes? We didn't even get to finish the process.” she huffs, undoing her tattered braid.

Dagur places a foot on the log and rests his hands on his hips .“It's fine. It's been a while since I've gotten a new scar. Now I'll have something to remember the hunt by!”

“Not everything's about you, Dagur.”

Dagur stares blankly. “...What does that have to do with-”

“Ughnever_miiiind_.” Heather groans, tossing her head back. She points to the mug of water the Wingmaidens brought him earlier. “Are you gonna drink that?”

“Nah.”

She snatches it off ground, downing it in seconds. 

“Damn, sis. You dying?”

Heather takes a recovering breath, shooting Dagur a look. “Well, gee, it's almost like I've been working my ass off the past three hours.”

Dagur snorts. “Okay, okay, calm down, Fireball.”

She sticks her tongue out. Dagur returns the favor with doubled intensity.

“Ugh. Look, I don't have time for an expression war right now.” she says, re-assembling her side-braid with startling efficiency.

“Oh yeah? That sounds like surrender to me.”

Another glare. Too easy.

“No, I just have to be at the King's house. Like, now.”

Dagur attention is piqued. “You're gonna heal Hiccup?”

“Not personally, but I need to observe a variety of healing processes before I'm initiated.” Heather says, tying off her hair. She rises, stretching, and picks up her bag. “See you later. Please, get some actual sleep before the feast.” She points accusingly at Dagur. “And I do mean _actual_ sleep. Not some measly hour-long nap.”

Dagur raises his hands in mock surrender. “Okay, okay. _Mom_.”

She flips around sharply, ignoring his jab. As she walks away, Dagur is filled with a nagging sensation. Is he forgetting something? He focuses heavily on Heather's pack, and is suddenly reminded.

“Hey, Heather! You got space in that bag?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * a rest (rôst) is a viking unit of measurement referring to the space between two rest stops; it varies in length based on terrain, but is usually about a mile in length.
> 
> This chapter took a bit haha. It was a combo of working more hours due to the virus and having a hard time writing from Dagur's perspective. In any case, hope you enjoyed, and as always, thanks for reading! C&C always welcome!


	6. Chapter 6

When viewed from the outside, the King's home appears as ordinary as any other in the village. In fact, he had insisted on it when he was crowned Chief. The only indication of it's significance is it's distance from any other hut; it is perched neatly atop a graceful, grassy slope, high above the village main. For once, Hiccup wishes it was closer. 

Despite his Dad all but carrying him, Hiccup is heavy with exhaustion by the time he is dropped onto a hard surface; it takes him a full six seconds to recognize it as his own chair. It takes another six to confirm that he is, in fact, back home. He can vaguely make out the noise of his Dad moving about in the depths of their kitchen, but he cannot summon the energy to follow him, even with his eyes. His vision slips out of focus, and familiar surroundings melt into a unintelligible, monotonous shade. As his sight slides away, so to does his hearing. Even his tired muscles and split skin fades to nothing; as such, he settles quite happily into numbness.

Within moments, or maybe several minutes, or maybe hours, he is slowly dragged back by insistent noise.

“Hiccup.”

Hiccup squeezes his eyes shut. He feels his brow strain. Like water flowing, feeling rushes from the center of his skull, down the lines of his body; each muscle announces it's pain in turn. 

“Hiccup.”

His ears strum in steady rhythm. There is a dull thud, and light suddenly bursts across the back of his eyelids. Hiccup holds back a gasp, and his eyes fly open.

The shutters have been cast open, causing light to stream violently across Hiccup's face. He squints towards a large, looming silhouette. 

“Tell me what happened.”

Hiccup struggles to focus on the words; his head pulses. “....what happened..?”

“The hunt.” 

“The...” Hiccup trails off.

His father's face is suddenly very visible, and inches from his own. His brows are furrowed, and his expression stiff.

“Are you well?” 

Uh, no.

“It's... not that deep.” Hiccup says instead.

His Dad kneels on one knee, and rests the leg in question across his other. Hiccup does his best not to wince.

“The boot will have to go. I'll order a new pair from Olga.” He pulls a knife from his belt and begins to slice through fur and leather with an uncomfortable amount of ease. After a moment of silence, he pauses, gesturing to Hiccup's right.

“Wash up. Wingmaiden'll be here soon.”

Hiccup turns to find a small washbasin on the table next to him. He grabs the cloth and franticly scrubs his face, more than happy to let conversation fall to the wayside.

Several minutes of focused cleaning later, Hiccup's face and leg are feeling significantly less horrific. Just in time; a light rap announces the healer's arrival. His Dad doesn't even need to stand to reach the door; he tosses it open, without fanfare, from his place on the floor.

To Hiccup's dismay, there is not one Wingmaiden, but three. And one of them is wearing a fairly prominent headpiece.

“Lord Stoick.”

Stoick makes to stand, but the steel-clad woman gestures for him to remain where he is.

“Queen Atali. I did not intend for you to come personally.”

“Of course, any trouble of yours is mine. However, if you prefer, I can leave my sisters to their work.”

“Not at all. We're gratified by your concern.”

In one smooth motion, she enters, kneels, and extends her arms towards Hiccup's leg.

“May I?”

Hiccup looks between her and his Dad several times before realizing she wants his permission.

“Uh, uh yeah. Course. Go for it.”

_Go for it? Really?_

Thankfully, the flame-haired woman doesn't seem concerned with any strange word choices; she transfers the leg from his Dad's knee to her own, quite focused on the task ahead. He instantly retreats deeper into the house, allowing the other two healers to filter in. Hiccup risks a quick glance at them and instantly wishes he hadn't; there's another familiar face.

“Hey.” Heather says, raising her hand in a timid wave. Hiccup wishes Hel would just swallow him already.

“Good, this is not so severe.” Queen Atali remarks. Hiccup's entire body flushes. Hopefully there's still enough grime on him to cover the crimson.

His Dad quickly chimes in. “In that case, I will entrust it to your expertise. I fear I have already neglected our guests too long. I must oversee the preparation of tonight's feast.” He nods once to Atali, and gently gestures as she makes moves to rise and reciprocate. “Please, be at ease.” He exits swiftly; Heather and the unknown Wingmaiden only just have time to bow to his back as he leaves. As they turn back into the room, their expressions are laced with confusion. 

Queen Atali, thankfully, wastes no time; she gestures, and with the ease of a practiced pair, she and the unknown Wingmaiden skillfully prepare various concoctions. After several minutes, the Queen looks to where Heather hovers near the open door.

“Apologies, Heather, but we should complete the process prudently so he can rest. Minden will explain in detail the steps we took later; for now, just take note of our actions.”

Heather nods once, stepping closer. Despite staring vigorously at his hands, Hiccup can't shake the feeling that she's watching him, rather then the proceedings. He is soon distracted from one discomfort and presented another; Minden wraps her hand fully around his calve and presses her thumb directly into the wound.

Hiccup cuts off his exclamation, but a short yelp still escapes from between his lips. Everyone freezes. 

“Sorry!” Minden says. “I need to make sure it fully saturates. We'll be doing that a few times more.”

“Rightright, it's fine, I just...” Hiccup responds. “Wasn't expecting it. It'll be fine now.”

Even so, he tenses, and grips the sides of the chair as they continue.

“So. Is he... always like that?” Heather asks.

“What?” Hiccup responds weakly, distracted.

“_Heather._” Minden cuts in, warning.

Heather raises her chin, slightly defiant. “What? He didn't even say goodbye.”

Confusion stutters through Hiccup. As King, he really isn't obligated to exchange farewells with random clansmen. Maybe she expects it as Oswald's daughter? But even then, that's a stretch, since she's not an heir. He feels another jolt of pain, but it's easy to ignore as he struggles to find an appropriate response to balm the situation. “Aha, yeah, sorry. He's been very socially engaged the past few days, he's probably tired. I'm sure he meant no offense-”

“Not to _me_,” she says, exasperated. “To you.”

Oh. Well that's not unusual at all. _Really_ cool of her to point that out though. Minden lowers her head, shaking it slightly; the Queen simply pretends not to hear, pressing into the wound one final time.

“It's fine. We said goodbye earlier.” It's not fine. Neither is this conversation, in this company. Or any, really.

Heather raises an eyebrow doubtfully. Hiccup looks away, uncomfortable under her unnaturally piercing gaze. The situation feels familiar, and Hiccup is suddenly reminded that she is blood related to Dagur. Yeah, that checks out.

“Alright, we're ready to fire-bind!” Atali claps her hands together gently, instantly diffusing the tension. 

“Wait-wait..fire-bin- I thought it wasn't bad?” Hiccup questions, voice cracking slightly.

“It's not; we should be able to seal it completely.” She says. Her eyes turn a touch regretful. “I apologize. I had assumed you would prefer to be in full form for the ceremony tomorrow, so I did not ask ahead of time. If you'd prefer, we can apply some salves for long term healing instead.”

Oh, Gods dammit all. This fucking ceremony.

“No, I...you're right, it would be best.” Hiccup concedes. “Just, um. Don't tell me when you're starting, please.”

Both of their eyes are full of familiar pity. Hiccup feels sick. He hates that look. He'd prefer scorn.

“Okay, how about a distraction, then?”

Hiccup tentatively turns to Heather's gaze again; he fears he'll see the other women's' expressions mirrored. Instead, her eyes glint with some sort of humor. 

“A distraction?” Hiccup questions, slightly distrustful.

She nods knowingly, and reaches into her bag. “A special delivery. Couldn't wait for the party, _apparently._” After a moment's struggle, she tugs a large mass out; she holds it out in front of her triumphantly.

“Behold!” she exclaims with exaggerated, sarcastic bravado. “My life's mission!”

Hiccup's eyes widen.

'Where did yo-!!”

The muscles of Hiccup's face that were responsible for finishing that sentence are suddenly very preoccupied with screaming. Thankfully, his vocal chords are a bit behind, or he would have done quite a bit more than a short cry of pain. Every inch of his calve is seeped with unfathomable heat. He can feel it kicking, but cannot stop it's motions; he cannot do anything but grip the seat of the chair, hard, until he can feel wood splinter beneath his fingernails. 

After some moments, the heat fades, and he forces his face to relax. Tears leak freely from his eyes, and it takes several moments for him to see anything beyond a watery haze. When he does, he sees that his caregivers have parted, leaning away from where his leg twitches and kicks of it's own accord.

“Ahah, sorry! Sorry, did I-...”

“Please, you're not our first patient. You think we'd just let you kick us?” Minden jokes lightly.

A handful of tiny, white flames dance across the wound. Despite the pain, Hiccup forces his leg to still midair so he can take a closer look. It is bizarre, and contradictory, to see and feel his own flesh to burn, and yet watch as it seals itself again, suffocating the tiny blazes of white light under equally white, fresh scar tissue.

“Looks good, looks good..” Atali, mutters to herself. She leans in, putting her face a little too close for Hiccup's liking. “Normal regrowth time.” She prods the scar, none too gently. “Is that tender?”

Hiccup tries to focus beyond the lingering burning sensation. “Um. I don't think so? I didn't really feel it....”

“That's normal. Excellent, excellent.” She rises steadily, brushing off her knees. “You'll likely feel residual burning for a quarter day; if it remains for more than a half, you should seek out your wise-woman. The scar should fade within the month. Be sure to wash it daily for at least a week.”

Hiccup nods halfheartedly as the Wingmaidens prepare to leave. He's never been so glad at the prospect of being alone, and that's saying something.

A terrible, knotted texture brushes his arm. Heather is extending her delivery to him once again.

“Here. Yours, right?”

It _was_. “I don't want it.”

Heather shrugs. “You don't have a choice; Dagur'll never leave me alone if I don't pass it on.” She shakes it slightly.

In stark contrast to his leg, the rest of his body turns quite cold as he takes the shredded furs from her. In the same moment, someone closes the shutters, removing them from sight. It doesn't help.

“What am I supposed to do with this?”

“Whatever you want. It's a battle trophy. Dagur was insistent.” She says.“Whatever happened last night, he's real impressed.”

Hiccup recalls the final, grotesque sounds of the ghoul and grips tight around his so-called prize. It is crusty, caked in the blood of a creature sentient enough to exchange a smile. His stomach plummets; he tightens his face, halting the tension behind his eyes before it spills out for all to witness.

A soft touch to his shoulder shakes him back to present. Heather pulls away, but her eyes search him over in the dull light. 

“Hey, you okay?”

Hiccup doesn't think as he responds. “Just tired.”

“Alright....we're heading out.” She gestures to Atali and Minden, who stand at the ready by the door. “Get some rest. I guess probably don't need to tell _you_.”

Hiccup scrambles to stand, bowing to Queen Atali. She gestures to stop him a just moment too late.

“Thank you for your aid.” Hiccup recites. There is more to be said, more thanks to be lauded upon the leader of the Wingmaidens for her time, but he can't seem to find any words right now. He prays she understands, and doesn't degrade him to the other clans.

If she's offended, she does not display it; she only nods with a smile and steps back over the threshold. The other two follow, and within a few breaths, the door closes, plunging the room back into shadow.

Hiccup waits for the tension to leave him, for the relief of isolation to flood his veins, but no such change occurs. For some time, he stands where they left him, gripping shredded furs and grappling with the memory of desperate eyes and bloody teeth.

The area around and in the Great Hall has been bustling since the morn, with many-a Berkian scrambling to prepare for the feast. However, the day past seems like a relaxing retreat in comparison to the current manic energy of the feast. 

Most of the chairs and tables, which _had_ been returned to their normal resting places, have been cast aside and squished together in an attempt to clear space for dancing. Despite the effort, many couples cast elbows into mugs and kick over stools as they spin. The songs they leap about to are victorious, heavy with drums; it only bolsters the mood of the gathered more. The atmosphere in the hall has not been so boisterous in many years, and never at a time when all clans gathered.

Those who don't dance drink their fill of mead, at Berk's expense. The unmistakable smell of roasted meat and body odor follows one throughout the entire hall. 

There's no grand centerpiece this year, but you won't hear anyone complaining. A dead ghoul is replacement plenty, even if it can't be roasted up and passed around the festivities. In fact, you'd be hard-pressed to find anyone in the hall who isn't singing the praises of any and all the hunters.

Astrid had brought home a boar, single-handed, in her year, while the rest of the party returned with scraps. Even as it fed the masses, her methods, the quality of the meat, and the size of the animal were all criticized; Astrid understands, this is simply the way the hunt works. But as she watches the children dash about, glowing with the praise of their elders, she can't help but feel a touch bitter. Who knew that a dead ghoul was all it took to eliminate any critique from the proceedings? 

Astrid watches a young boy, clad in Beserker furs, clamber onto a bench, and begin to dramatically reenact his account of the night. His family's eyes glow with pride.

She can't help but let out a soft snort of distain.

“Ugh, what is he doing? He wasn't even there; Dagur did all the work!”

Snotlout has tossed his broad arms towards the boy. Thankfully his whining is lost in the chaos of the gathered, otherwise he my have started a brawl; as much as Astrid would love to see his smug, sleazy face utterly pummeled, relations need to stay neutral, at best. He runs a hand through his dark hair, eyes taking on what _may_ be an attempt at sultry. 

“These kids have never seen a real battle. Unlike us, amiright, babe-”

“What did I say was gonna happen, if you called me that again?” Astrid says, brow twitching.

“Uh, that you'd take out my tongue and feed it to the Haelga's yaks? But yaks don't even eat tongue, so I can only assume those threats were empty.” He gives her a saccharine grin.

“Ugh.” Astrid gags slightly. “Not as empty as your head.”

“Or my mug!” Ruffnut whines from where she's sprawled on the floor. “Where's the mead?! I thought they were getting new barrels.”

“It's been like, five minutes.” Astrid says, exasperated.

“Ugh. These parties get worse every year.”

“Perhaps, my dear sister, we are simply growing too mature for such frivolous whimsies.” Tuffnut interjects, straightening his usual hunched posture theatrically.

“Ah, most astute, brother.” Ruffnut immediately joins his charade. “It may be that we simply lack the childish nature that once endeared us to these assemblies.”

“That's definitely not right.” Astrid says, rubbing her temples.

“Yeah, you two wouldn't know maturity if you tried.” Snotlout interjects loudly. “Unlike me; I've got maturity for _days._”

He subtly puts an arm around Astrid's shoulders, and she returns the gesture by subtly tossing him to the floor.

A scuffle immediately ensues as the twins goad Snotlout into retaliation. Two against one isn't fair, but whatever. Astrid watches them briefly, until the entertainment value wears off.

She should feel blessed that her peers are so foolish; it means that she has less competition in general. But they make for pretty uninspiring company. She'd kill for a normal conversation right now. Speaking of which, where the _Hel_ is Hiccup?

She scans the hall for the boy, but acknowledges that it's a lost cause; finding his tiny frame amongst the crowd would be like trying to find a needle in a haystack. It is significantly less difficult to locate the large, round form of Fishlegs Ingerman. A close second, in terms of maturity.

Well, maybe not a _close_ second. But better than nothing.

“Save my spot.” Astrid barks. Not waiting for a response, she beelines it towards the large boy.

She doesn't make it far enough fast enough; Snotlout has gripped her arm, halting her progress. She feels a familiar rush of warmth as her bind-fire begs to be unleashed on the deserving party. Instead of heeding it's call, she turns on her heel, prepped and ready to send him sprawling again.

At the last moment, she catches a glimpse of golden brown; she just barely prevents her blow from landing. 

“Astrid Hofferson! It's been awhile.” he says.

She draws the nearly offending hand to her chest, trying to play off her movements as a surprised reaction. He smiles broadly at her, seemingly unaware of any misstep. Of course, that could be a charade; he bears the look of a man on a mission.

“Aha, s-so it has.........” Oh Thor, what was his name?

“I didn't see you this morning.”

Was it something with an R? “I wasn't there, my class had feast prep duties.”

“Ah, shame. It was a sight to behold, truly!”

Alvin's new heir...uh....Hroar! There we go. 

Astrid is unsure of his current motive. They've rarely spoken in the past; the Outcasts aren't exactly fond of Berk. And Astrid isn't exactly fond of small talk.

“I've heard. Even the elders are amazed.” Astrid says, biting back a bitter tone.

“As they should be.” Hroar says. His eyebrows shift almost imperceptibly lower, the corners of his smile tighten. “The Beserkers must be full to bursting with pride. What a..._productive_ year it's been for them!”

Ah. The Outcasts are seeking allies. Or at the very least, assurance that the other clans are also unsettled by the Beserkers' current positioning. Astrid is unsure what Berk's elders think of the situation; she shouldn't leave anything but a neutral impression.

“I imagine so, but _all_ the clans have much to boast about tonight.” She offers with a smile. It's an obvious dodge. 

“None so much as the Beserkers....” Hroar's eyes flicker, and his words take on a tone that borders on sarcastic. “...and _Berk_, of course!”

Astrid squints lightly, guarded. What is he implying? “No more than any other.”

“Of course more than others! Your..” He clears his throat. “..._chief-to-be_.. single-handedly saved Dagur the Deranged from the maws of the beast!” 

Astrid blinks a few times. “...What?”

“Or, have you not heard?” He nearly sings. “Oh, you must go listen to Dagur's recollection of the night. Apparently, Hiccup is _quite_ the capable hunter.”

Astrid feels her mouth slipping open in question, but can't quite catch her thoughts up. Why in the world would Dagur be...this type of lie, for what purpose? It makes no sense, what is he playing at? This-

She focuses again on Hroar's face; a certain smugness is present where it wasn't before. “You'd think his unusual build and..._circumstances_ would make him ill-suited for it, but I suppose _we're_ all the fools. Dagur knows what he's talking about, _of course_.”

Astrid could spit in his face. She won't, but she could. In any case, she shouldn't shoot the messenger.

Even if the messenger is being a cock.

Instead, she composes herself with a smile. “I _absolutely_ need to hear this from the source.”

“Definitely!” Hroar turns broadly, pointing across the hall. “I saw him last over there. I'm sure he'd be just _thrilled_ to tell it again.”

Astrid nods and makes to leave, but to her frustration, Hroar grabs her arm once more. When he next speaks, his voice has lost it's condescending tone.

“When you've heard your fill, come find me again. I'd love to catch up.”

“Sure.” Astrid lies. Thankfully, he releases her quickly to her own devices.

Astrid spends a good ten minutes seething and navigating through the throngs of people, looking for the Beserker heir. As she does so, doubt starts to creep in; is Hroar just trying to get a rise out of her? It would be a strange way to go about it; she would inevitably discover his lies. And yet, Dagur has nothing to gain by spreading this lie about Hiccup. Especially since no one will believe them for a second. Maybe, Dagur is playing this as some kind of sick joke to emphasize Hiccup's, and in turn Berk's, weakness?

Before she can come to any conclusion, she feels a grip around her arm. She spins around, ready to pummel; the target nearly falls over in their haste to step away.

“AAAAAstrid!! HI, Hey, Hello Astrid! Are you enjoying the party?”

She sighs in relief. “Fishlegs. Sorry. I was expecting...somebody else.”

He straightens up, smiling nervously. “I've been looking for you. Have you heard-”

“About Hiccup?” Astrid deadpans.

“Aw. I wanted to tell you.” He says, slightly disappointed. Well, that confirms that Hroar wasn't lying. Astrid's frustration grows.

Fishlegs quickly perks up, eyes excited. “Can you believe it? I would never have thought that he-”

“That's because he didn't, Fishlegs.” Astrid says, disbelieving. This boy is way too trusting for his own good. “There's no way Hiccup would even attempt to _actually_ join the hunt.”

Fishlegs pouts a bit. “I mean, he could have!”

“No he couldn't. Hiccup doesn't fight; he can barely lift a sword, let alone take on a ghoul!” Astrid snaps. “The Beserkers are up to something; Dagur is lying through his teeth!”

Fishlegs suddenly turns stuttery; not a word comes out that Astrid can make heads or tails of. From behind Fishlegs obtrusive form steps a dark haired, dark eyed girl.

“My brother is _not_ a liar.” she says sharply.

Astrid recoils internally. Gods dammit, Hofferson. Heather's gonna run her pretty little self straight home and tell Daddy.

Her pause gives Heather an opportunity to continue. “A pest? Yes. A loud, over-emotional menace? Absolutely. But a _liar_?” She narrows her eyes at Astrid. 

Astrid attempts to backpedal. “I mean, can you blame me for assuming? I _know_ Hiccup; there's no way he would pursue a ghoul.”

Heather crosses her arms. “Have you spoken to him today? Wondered why he's not here?”

Astrid pauses. “He's not-?”

“Huh, he's probably recovering from the fire-bind we used to close his _gaping claw wounds_.” Heather says scathingly.

Worry, confusion, and frustration consume Astrid in equal measure. She is quite done with being out of the loop today. “What happened?”

Heather's eyes widen in mock suprise. “Oh? You'd really trust the report of a Beserker?”

“We'll, you're not _really_ a Beserker, are you? Not for much longer.”

Heather's fair face twists in rage. Astrid gets a momentary rush of satisfaction. Fishlegs grows increasingly twitchy.

Heather steps towards Astrid, voice lowered. “I'm still one now. And you can bet that even after I've taken my pledge, I'll still defend my family from slander.”

She turns on her heel and stalks away, her dark braid swinging aggressively as she goes.

“Astrid, why did you do that??” Fishlegs whines, eyes wide. 

“Oh, what? She needed to be knocked down a few pegs.” Astrid says, feeling infinitely better.

“She did not!” He barks, stomping a foot. “I know you don't like her, but that doesn't mean you need to be so..so....”

“So _what_?” Astrid says warningly.

“Purposefully antagonistic! There! I said it!”

“Oh.” That's not what she though he was gonna say at all.

“I don't understand why you two clash so badly.” He continues. “You're both smart, battle-hardened lady warriors! You should have plenty to talk about.”

“Maybe it's because she's a stuck up, big headed, silver spooned little-”

“OKAYOKay stop that!” Fishlegs squeaks out.

Astrid huffs and grabs him by the tunic. “Come on. We need to know _exactly_ what Dagur's telling everyone.”

Hiccup doesn't sleep well. 

He tries. Oh, does he try. He even risks his dad's wrath in favor of it; he lies in bed, desperate for that gentle peace, even as a humming, distant melody indicates the feast is underway. All afternoon and evening, and well into the night, he fades in and out of foggy, disorienting consciousness. He stumbles through unfamiliar, looming spaces, reaching, calling out to something or someone unknown. He can feel it lingering, just beyond his view; he knows he is being pursued.

Once, he is thrown awake by a sharp cry, only to realize it was he who called out. His teeth taste like copper.

When Hiccup decides he has woken for the final time, the feelings that clouded his sleep remain; they follow him out of the house, all the way down the sun-battered hillside. Even as his feet carry him forward and around obstacles, he is hardly thinking of the day ahead; the day past absorbs his attention in full, until he is pushed rather aggressively on the shoulder.

“Ah, there y'are, Hiccup! Was worried I'd have to go wake yah me'self.” 

Hiccup blinks; his vision begins to clear around a gap-toothed grin. As his surroundings come into focus, he bites down on his tongue; he has somehow made it to the ceremony grounds, without realizing. He and Gobber stand outside the fighting arena, shoulder to shoulder with what has to be every viking on Berk, visiting or otherwise. The noise is overwhelming all at once.

“Hm. I may still hav' to. Are yah in there, lad?” Gobber yells, grabbing Hiccups ear and tugging.

Hiccup shakes himself loose with a grimace. “YES, yes, I'm here I'm here, ready to go! So ready..”

The gates to the newly expanded stands are tossed open, and with an eruption of shouts, the fight for the best seats begins. Hiccup is nearly lost to the tide of the crowd, but Gobber grabs him in the nick of time; he drags them both onto a nearby table and starts gesturing wildly with an over-sized wooden hand.

“PARTICIPANTS, STAY HERE! OVER HERE!”

After a few grating minutes, the majority of the audience has made it into the stands, the path is clear for the kids to approach, and it is safe for Hiccup to uncover his ears.

“Is my Dad in there already?” 

“Aye. Up on the podium. Wanted to moderate any brawls.” Gobber says, unscrewing his hand attachment. “How are yah feelin', Hiccup?”

“_Peachy._”

“Oh, come on now, if ever there was a year with the gods' blessing, it's this one! Chipper up!”

Hiccup shoots Gobber a disbelieving scowl and steps down from the table, joining the rest of the kids. They pay him, and each other, little attention; most are deep in thought, fidgeting nervously, or staring into space. 

“What's with you lot?” Gobber says with bravado. “Ya' look like you lost a bet on yer' hut!”

It may have something to do with Gobber's comments; rather than reassure, he's only driven home the fact that expectations for this bind are higher than ever. The whole group looks about, exchanging glances; Hiccup sees his own apprehension mirrored in their eyes. He's sure that Dagur is the only one here without worry. Now that Hiccup thinks about it, things are oddly quiet.

“Dagur's missing.”

“He won't bind with us.” A Beserker girl barks. “It's a secret ceremony.”

“Right you are; Oswald, Dagur, an' a few others went up the mountain to Gothi's, for privacy. They'll probably stay there all day.” Gobber adds.

Hiccup nods slightly. That makes sense. The Beserkers have always seemed protective of their process.

Gobber lowers himself from the table. “Alright, all of ya' follow me; not long now.” 

Gobber leads the group down a short hill, around the arena, and into a tunnel under the stands. He leaves them, without fanfare, at the iron gate to the arena. The conversation of the crowd rumbles through the ground, vibrating the surrounding walls and knocking crumbling dirt from the ceiling. No one speaks; the nervous energy that buzzed about outside has now fully permeated the group. Even Destin remains discomfortingly silent, staring through the gate at some distant object.

Hiccup finds himself equally nervous as the rest, despite his best efforts to remain a pessimist. It's definitely the safer option; his first five tries were a bust, why would try number six be different? Some people just aren't made to bind, and at this point he is convinced he is one of them; it's just an unfortunate coincidence he happens to be a member of the clan with the highest bind rate, and the son of the King to boot. Hiccup would rather let the chips fall as they will, and stop drawing out the whole embarrassing affair. 

Yet, Gobber's statement prods at the back of his mind, like a child attempting to illicit a response from an occupied parent. A stupid little instinct, questioning _'What if? What if it's this time? It could be this time.'_ Hiccup tries to shakes the thought away, tries to call back his stony attitude from just a few days before. But he can't. Not entirely.

“How long will they make us wait?” Hiccup jumps at the sudden voice, as do most of the kids. No one gets a chance to respond to the young boy; a chorus of horns blow, and the gate raises, accompanied by the sound of grating metal. 

The crowd erupts with cheers. The group exchanges terrified glances. 

“We've got this, guys!” Gustav, of all people, faces the the group with hands on hips, chest puffed out with forced bravado. “Lets get out them and show em' what's what!” With that, he turns and struts out.

Not to be outdone, Destin immediately follows suit; slowly but surely, the rest get their bearings and trickle out. Hiccup swallows the growing knot in his throat and takes up the rear.

The transition from the tunnel to the midday sun blinds him temporarily. He raises his hand to shade his eyes; this has the added benefit of blocking his view of the crowd he knows sits just above his sightline. Before him is the usual set-up; shin-high metal basins, one for each kid, form a circle and another, smaller one inside it. The kids have followed Gustav to the center of the rings, where they turn about, searching for their family amongst the masses.

Hiccup doesn't have to search; a short glance up, into the stands straight ahead, finds his Father. He and the Council, minus Oswald, hover on a spacious podium, sternly looking over the entire affair. The rest of the assembly is not so lucky; despite his Dad's extra effort to expand the arena for this year's ceremony, they are absolutely packed to the brim. Couples sit on each other's laps, children on the shoulders of their parents and siblings. 

The crowd is overwhelmingly Berkian; it seems that everyone, even the families without participants, have come to see if this year will live up to the hype. 

Somehow, Hiccup keeps making eye contact with people. Surely they're not _all_ staring at him, right? He's about to cave in and look at the dirt until the thing starts, when he catches sight of a familiar combination of gold and blue. 

Astrid is definitely staring. Hiccup sees recognition flicker across her features as he meets her gaze; she nods firmly with a small, determined smile, and Hiccup can't deny her a smile in return. He does deny her anything else, though, as her father shoots him a terrifying glare.

“WELCOME, PARTICIPANTS!”

Hiccup turns his attention back to the podium as Stoick's massive voice cuts through the noise. Gradually, the volume drops.

“And welcome, friends, family, and fellow clansmen. It is my great honor, as King of the Archipelago, to oversee the promotion of our young folk into the ranks of our many great warriors. We call upon the Gods, this day, to bless our people with their strength, and deliver our defense from the horde.”

“Hail, Asgard! Hail, Vanaheim! Praise be the Gods!” All present chant.

“Hunters. Claim your torches.”

Before the words are fully uttered, Hiccup has turned and rounded the basin directly behind him. Some people believe that the position of the torch you choose has an effect; Hiccup is far too jaded to be worrying about that. The others must not be, as they mull about, looking thoughtful; some 'helpful' family members shout suggestions from their seats above. A few pairs have stand-offs over particular spots, but they resolve quickly; no one would be so brash as to physically fight during the ceremony. After a few torturous minutes, the final kids take their places behind the basins. Everyone looks to Stoick, expectantly.

“Kneel.”

They do so.

Hiccup suddenly realizes his error. All participants face inwards, towards the center of the circles, meaning he now faces directly towards the podium. His Dad stares down at him, face blank.

Unable to hold his gaze, Hiccup looks down into the basin. His own freckled features stare back, appearing quite pained. He takes a deep breath and relaxes his brow. Marginally better.

“Place your hands.”

He involuntarily shivers as he submerges his hands in the basin's contents. The crystal clear oil, as usual, is unpleasantly slick to the touch.

“Warriors.”

They all look to the podium once more. Stoick nods firmly once, shaking his flaming beard.

“You may begin.”

And from this point, Hiccup is lost.

Just like the position of the torches, every person who has bound has a different recommendation for drawing in a wayward spirit. Some swear on emotional numbness, others on exaggeration. Some say you should pretend to be angry, or grieving; others still say you should present your true state. Focus solely on them, focus on anything else, pray to the Gods the entire time; if there is a strategy, Hiccup has attempted it. He thinks, this time, he will not try anything at all.

He shifts his knees in the dirt. His arms are already growing tired; this will go on well into the evening, until the sun sets, but the previous days' excitement and a lack of quality sleep have worn him down already. He lets his eyes slide shut, but does not allow himself to lean on the basin.

The crowd has fallen silent, so as not to distract the focused participants. With his eyes closed, Hiccup can pretend he is alone. Nearly. A prickle on the back of his neck betrays that he is being watched; he rolls his shoulders to dismiss it. His hands pull out of the oil slightly and a portion of his wrist is struck with cool air. He returns them quickly so as to avoid any extra attention.

Gods, this is always the worst. The waiting. Everyone sitting around, watching, judging everything; your stamina, your posture, expression, the time of day your bind sets, the fact that it never does. The color, the smoke, the power. Always the power. What's the point? So the Archipelago can claim a few more slain ghouls?

Hiccup shudders. Never again. He never wants to witness that again. Blunt force piercing a skull; never wants to hear another final breath. See eyes begging for death, or life, or whatever it's strange half-existence was. Never again see his own face, driping with blood and primal fear.

But, Hiccup hadn't witnessed that, had he? His own face, in that moment...but it is burned anyway, clear as day, into his memory. He furrows his brow, frantically trying to come to terms with the thought in any logical way. 

Before he can, heat smothers him from all sides, and panicked shouting fills the arena. Hiccup leaps from the dirt, eyes flying open. 

He is not alone; everyone has risen. Shouting gives ways to gasps of disbelief and frenzied exclamations. The council leans heavily over the railing of their perch, faces a mixture of joy and disbelief.

All the way around the ring, the torches blaze with pillars of flames. They light the expressions of their casters, some confused, most delighted, in brilliant hues of red and gold, green and blue. Every basin is lit. Every participant is bound.

Hiccup's chest feels gaping and hallow as he turns his gaze downwards.

His reflection stares back up at him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aaaaah shit im not dead? wow
> 
> sorry if anyone was desperate for an update; the situation this spring and summer has been less than ideal if u know what i mean. had a hard time feeling creative in any capacity haha
> 
> but here you go! As always, thanks for reading, C&C welcome!


	7. Chapter 7

The forest dances in the midday light. The birds flit from branch to branch, singing as they go. The trees' upper reaches sway in time with the breeze, casting dappling light across the brush below. It's the perfect day to take in the sights of Berk's undisturbed nature, with the warm sun setting a low risk of ghoul encounters, as well as beautiful scenery. Which would be great. Except.

Hiccup can't remember how he got here. Only a moment ago, he was meeting his father's gaze, shielded and brimming with emotions that the King of the Wilderwest dare not express further. The roaring of the crowd, the heat of the flames, the tremors of his own fragile heart; all that had been present a breath ago is no more.

He blinks once, twice, waiting for his brain to form the connections necessary to explain.

Well, this has to be a dream, then. He's fainted again. As if he hasn't embarrassed himself enough today.

Hiccup cringes, pressing his wrists to his eyes. Every single kid bound at once. Unprecedented. Absurd. To put it plainly, no one would believe it if it didn't just happen. Maybe this year was blessed by the Gods. In that case, Hiccup is cursed by them in equal measure. That is certainly what they will whisper out of earshot of Stoick. 

Hiccup yanks his hands away, forcing back familiar throes of panic. No point in indulging self-pity now. The full repercussions of the day are yet to be seen, and this dream-state may be the last slice of peace he'll have for a while. Best to take advantage of it. 

For a long while, Hiccup is content to let his feet lead him nowhere. The day is almost too perfect for early spring; no chill bites his skin, no rain cuts through the canopy above. All in all, definitely better than the alternative of waking up. 

It's a stumble and a sharp crack beneath him that finally shakes him out of his stupor. He creeps over the fallen branch, into the safety of crimson brush, only to freeze mid step.

The clearing before him lays stained, the undergrowth bent and laden with unnatural weight. The ground and leaves are painted in some dulled, thickened substance; the unnatural hues are only made more jarring by large gashes through them, as though some beast battled the very earth.

Just as Hiccup realizes where he stands, a violent weight rips his calve open from behind.

Hiccup feels his throat strain beneath a mighty scream, but he hears nothing beyond a great roaring noise. The pain is unlike any he's felt before; his eyes remain open but his vision goes dark, he can't feel anything beyond exposed flesh and broken bone.

Despite the overwhelm, Hiccup reaches a shaking hand back to identify the source. He traces his fingers, as lightly as possible, over the wound, but his hand meets the gritty texture of rough-spun fabric, and nothing more. All at once, the sensation vanishes, and Hiccup comes to his senses, gasping, in the grime of yesterday's massacre.

Suddenly, the slight breeze through his hair, the sharp smell of the tainted ground, the heavy struggle of his own lungs seem much too realized to be conjured in the throes of sleep.

Hiccup scrambles to his feet, fully shaking, just in time to meet a large, familiar grip on his shoulder.

He instinctively ducks away, but makes it nowhere; Stoick holds him firmly in place. Hiccup looks to him, simultaneously afraid and relieved. Unexpectedly, his father does not meet his eyes, but instead surveys the devastated clearing. His brows furrow in confusion; Hiccup can practically see the gears turning.

“This-” 

He finally looks down, and for a moment, there is only mutual confusion. Then his mouth sets in a hard line, his eyes turn cold, and Hiccup is yanked away from the scene.

The arena grounds have long since emptied, but Stoick still moves with the intention of a man avoiding prying eyes. Hiccup flails helplessly behind him, the just-too-firm grip on his arm ensuring he meets his dad's pace. His feet cannot hope to match it; they scramble across the dirt paths, kicking up clouds of debris in their wake. Each time he stumbles, his dad yanks him upright again. The whole thing would look rather silly, if one ignored the absolutely murderous, six foot tall, monster of a man.

Despite his years of experience enraging Berk's chief, Hiccup can't remember his father ever looking as furious as he does in this moment. Gobber seems to agree; despite his being short a leg, he fully leaps out of the way as the two plow back through the gates of the arena.

The basins sit as they were before. The flames have burned away to nothing, leaving only blackened metal in their wake. All but one, which reflects the sun with as much intensity as the day it was forged. Hiccup is tossed to his knees before it; he nearly falls directly into it's contents, but he narrowly braces himself on it's edges. His arm, now freed from his father's grip, throbs painfully as he pushes himself upright.

His dad paces in circles around him, before letting out a short, frustrated yell and toppling one of the basins.

Hiccup steels himself.

“Do you understand what you've done?!” Stoick shouts.

“I-”

“Do you understand what they think-” He spins, throwing his arm towards the empty stands. “-when they see you behave the way you do?!”

“...I probably have a pretty good grasp on it, yeah.”

“This isn't a joke, Hiccup!” The chief exclaims, hands clenched before him. “You fled. In the middle of a binding, how do you think that looks to the other Clans?”

Hiccup presses his tongue between his teeth, hard, until he tastes copper. He can't remember. Had he?

His father stomps towards him, only to stop several steps away. He glares for several seconds; Hiccup can see him trying, and failing, to control his breathing. Oh boy.

“Why would you-” a slow breath. “I don't-” another.

Hiccup stays totally, dreadfully still.

“...This binding...is not usual.” He starts. He does not continue.

“...No.” Hiccup breathes, prompting.

“Something is amiss.” Stoick says, almost to himself. “Maybe it has to do with the Berserker exchange. There must be a reason...”

The frustration of many inconclusive arguments burns anew in Hiccup's chest. “That I was the only one? Yeah, maybe it's what I've been telling you the past three years-”

Stoick transitions back to rage as easily as breathing. “You are a Haddock! You will bind, because it is in your blood!”

“OR I WON'T!” Hiccup shouts, wobbling to his feet. “And I'll just keep doing this, over and over, year after year, until you die, heirless! How long are you willing to shame us-” 

The breath is knocked out of Hiccup as his back meets the dirt.

“DO NOT SPEAK TO ME OF SHAME!”

The push was not violent, but the force remains tight on Hiccup's chest as he lays, taking quivering breaths. 

His dads eyes bore down an unbearable mix of rage, regret....and then, barely perceivable, the slimmest hint of pity.

Hiccup's heart and throat are in knots as Stoick pulls him from the ground. 

“Until this day ends,” He grits out, shoving Hiccup's hands back into the oil, “you will stay _right. Here._

Hiccup stares into the basin, past his reflection, past his hands. As the soft crunch of gravel grows ever more distant, everything turns to watery blur.

“I'll return at sundown. Close the gate behind me.” 

“...Stoick...”

“_Close. The gate._”

“....Aye.”

Hiccup clenches his shoulders and lets his head fall.

Despite his father's words, it is Gobber, not Stoick, who releases Hiccup hours later. Even with the man's tone-deaf nature, he has the sense to stay silent during the walk home, and not mention the lack of results. Hiccup's never been more grateful for anything in his life. He leaves his mentor at the door, with the assurance that he'll see him at the smithy tomorrow. 

In the end, he does not sleep; some lingering threat remains present in his mind. Despite the exhaustion racking his body, he dons his jacket and enters the smithy early, before the frost has melted from the grass, before his father has even returned home for the night. This is not a negative in the slightest.

The embers of the forge glow dimly, with just enough light to direct Hiccup around their cluttered workspace. He walks with purpose, despite having none; it isn't until he's seated at his desk that he decides his distraction.

He collects a candle and the mainland book from the chest he stored it in days prior. Has it really only been days? Hiccup feels unbearably older; the excitement he felt at Johann's gift has been forcefully carved out of him. But he needs something, _anything_ to do. 

Hiccup gratefully buries all thought in foreign text until the orange candlelight fades into cool white.

By the time the birds start singing, Hiccup has parsed not so much a topic as a general tone; the words he understands are cutting and action oriented, the phrases imply conflict. He suspects this is fiction, maybe a local legend. He will make a list of unidentifiable words to take to Johann, if he can stomach the trip through the village main. 

“Whatcha' doing, brother?”

Hiccup leaps, sending the contents of his “desk” flying to the ground; in his panic, his foot catches on his seat, and he promptly joins them in the dirt. He immediately scrambles to flip onto his back so he may face the startling presence.

“Wh-Dagur?”

Indeed it is; he hovers, just behind the offending stool, with a fierce grin. The filth from the hunt, which had previously served to partially dampen his expression, is no more; the soft morning light amblifies the intensity of his stare to borderline scary levels. A nervous energy fills Hiccup, and he is struck with a violent urge to flee. 

“Where were you last night? You completely missed the burning!” Dagur says, seemingly unbothered by Hiccup's current positioning.

“...burning?” Hiccup breathes, trying not to stutter.

“Of the beast!”

Hiccup's stomach clenches painfully, guilt rekindled. He shuts his eyes briefly, fighting off the vivid imagery his mind conjures up.

“They had me give a speech! You could have spoken too, if you'd shown up. Not to worry, though, I made sure to credit you.”

Uncharacteristic fury washes over Hiccup. There is no way this kid hasn't heard about the binding results by now. He's so casual in his delivery, so blatant in his attempts to put Hiccup in the spotlight; what could this be but an attempt to shame Berk?

Bile rises to the back of Hiccup's throat and onto his tongue; it burns through his mouth and out the bottom of his jaw. He feels it drip to the floor below, and his head flooded with unshakeable rage. 

But when he looks up, he is met with an expression so pure in it's excitement, it makes him a little ill. The anger fades as quickly as it came, and doubt and shame takes it's place. Could it be that this kid is just an idiot?

Hiccup can't come to any conclusion in his exhausted state. He grasps his chin, rubbing away some distant sensation.

“Uh- thanks... but what are you, uh-” Hiccup pulls himself up on his make-shift desk, and glances around to confirm Dagur came alone.. “-why are you...here...”

Dagur suddenly lurches closer; despite Hiccup's hasty retreat, the older boy succeeds in shoving a small wooden box into his chest.

“LOOK! Look!” Dagur says. Or, shouts. 

The box is just small enough to fit comfortably in Hiccup's hands. It is plain, nothing special. Hiccup is caught in a terrible space, unsure if he is meant to see it's contents or gather some information from the container alone. He looks up at Dagur for some sort of guidance. The boy only smiles back at him, hands behind his back, jittering with puppy-like energy. Hiccup continues to meet his gaze, guarding against any sudden shifts in mood, as he slowly opens the lid. Only when he's sure none is coming does he inspect the contents.

The inside of the box is dark, but it shimmers, like stars against an evening sky. It's like glass, little pieces, all layered on top one another. Or more like shells. Hiccup slowly reaches in to touch.

He freezes.

“Is- Are these-”

“They were left after we burned it! Aren't they sick?!” 

Hiccup thinks he might be. He closes the box with a firm hand, infinitely grateful that his timely realization prevented him from grazing them.

“You're a smith, right?”

_No, I just hang out here for giggles._

“...yeah?”

“Wow! Who would've thought! I mean, they already told me so, but with how measly you are, it's surprising they picked you for that trade. Especially one so essential, what with you being the heir. Won't your clan smith just have to replace you once you're chief? Seems like a lot of extra work. How do you run the forge without bindfire, anyway? Anyway!” Dagur claps, interrupting himself. 

Hiccup blinks rapidly, trying to recover from the whiplash of that slurry.

“I need a bracelet! With the-the- scale-things! Layered all along the surface. I was thinking of a silver band, but maybe steel would be better. Or gold, that would go with the trim, I suppose...”

Dagur quiets suddenly and stares at Hiccup with huge, searching eyes. What in Thor's name is going on?

“Dagur, not that i'm not, um... interested, but why are you telling me this?”

Dagur raises an eyebrow, incredulous. “Well, you'll make it, of course!”

“Wha-”

This guy has got to be kidding.

“Dagur, I can't- ...do that.”

“Sure you can!” Dagur barks, pushing Hiccup's shoulder 'affectionately'. The younger boy is nearly toppled again; Dagur chortles in response and turns to poke around the smithy. 

“No, I-I mean it, I _can't._ I forge weapons. There's a far leap between a smith and a jeweler.” Hiccup appeals to Dagur's back.

“OHOHOHO Hiccup, no need to worry! I believe in you, and you don't doubt me, right? So no problem.” He says, strutting around the forge. “Besides, there's no one else here that I'd trust to make a gift for my beloved.”

Hiccup is about to say that he very much _does_ doubt, but is thrown once again. “..this is for Mala?”

“Yep! You know, solidify the union and whatnot.” Dagur waves his hand dismissively. 

“What?! Are-are you serious?!” Hiccup says, voice cracking slightly.

Dagur turns and pauses at the change in Hiccup's tone. Confusion has overturned his features.

Yeah, okay. Definitely just an idiot.

“Dagur, you can't hire someone else to make your _betrothal_ gift. That's totally inappropriate!”

Dagur leans against the stones. “....I'm not paying you, though.”

Hiccup can feel his brow doing some shit. He's not sure what his face looks like currently, but it's definitely far from neutral. 

“...A betrothal gift can't be made by a third party. It needs to be a family treasure, or something you've made yourself.”

“That's not a rule!” Dagur barks, eyebrows furrowing. He is quickly growing frustrated; Hiccup can relate. 

“It's not-” Hiccup pauses and takes a heaving breath through his nose, pressing a closed fist to his mouth. He plans his next words carefully, and forces a softer tone. “Maybe not officially, but they would _definitely_ mind if they found out you didn't make it yourself. Don't you have a Beserker heirloom you can use?”

“No! Ragna's got great-grandma's sword!” Dagur says. “Besides, I want something to remind her of my feats! And there's none better than our victory, right!?”

“.........Sure. B-but you'll have to find someone else.” Hiccup manages, extending the box to Dagur. “I'm sorry, but I won't be involved in this.” _For multiple reasons._

Hiccup has witnessed Dagur's dramatic leaps in mood, but has never been the target of his ire. He can see it much clearer now; the boy's eyes leap dangerously between too much and too little emotion, his body tenses threateningly. Hiccup is well fearful as the redhead slinks back around the forge, eyes locked fully onto him.

He reaches the box, outstretched in Hiccup's hand, but doesn't stop; he pushes his way forward, until he's nearly chest to chest with the smaller boy. The sharp edge presses into Hiccup, but he stays in place, fearing what a step back may reveal. Still, it's a struggle to meet Dagur's eyes, which bear down from above with crippling intensity.

“I trust no one else for it. You'll do it!” Dagur snarls.

“_I absolutely will not!_” Hiccup snarls back.

The vitriol escapes from between Hiccup's teeth without a thought to guide it, and leaves his body cold just as suddenly. He stares, eyes wide, at Dagur, who stares, eyes wider, right back.

He positively howls. Hiccup leaps several steps back.

“-AHAHAHAHAHA _THERE HE IS_! There's the guy who faced down a ghoul! I was wondering where he went!” Dagur yells excitedly, throwing his arms about. 

“What's with all tha' commotion?”

They look in tandem to the entryway; Gobber has somehow snuck in, a bulk of metal scrap under his arm, and is currently eyeing the two of them with strong trepidation. 

“OH, my brother and I were just discussing a project!” Dagur says, throwing a 'friendly' arm around Hiccup's extremely tense frame.

“...A project?”

“It- It's a non starter, actually.” Hiccup insists, wriggling out from under the taller boy. He catches a breath of Dagur's response before Gobber, thankfully, intejects.

“Well, in any case, glad I happened upon yah, Dagur. Yer father's waiting at the main hall. The council is assembling soon.” 

“Assembling? Right _now_?” Hiccup questions, approaching his mentor. “What's going on?”

“Dunno myself.” Gobber says. He leans around Hiccup, addressing Dagur. “But you better get down there, lad. They won't wait long for yah.”

Dagur practically prances past the two, face alight. Still, he has enough restraint to pause at the threshold, pointing at Hiccup with a massive grin. 

“You hold onto those for now, Hiccup! We'll talk later!”

And with that, he sprints off. Hiccup glances down, confirming that he was, indeed, still holding the box in question.

“That's an odd one, there. Everything alright, lad?” Gobber asks, dropping the load of material to the floor.

“Uh...yes...? Probably.” Hiccup says, setting the box aside with unplanned gentleness.

“Tha's good, cause we've got a lot of work to catch up on, and I also need to be at that meeting. I want that nail order for Rogvirr at least half done by the time I get back!” Gobber says, hobbling away as quickly as he arrived.

“Ah, well-” Hiccup watches him go, muttering to himself. “Not like I _expected_ a break, but y'know...would've been nice.”

“I'm afraid this appears legitimate, Lord Stoick.”

“You're certain?”

“Quite.” Johann squeaks. “This seal is reserved for royal proclamations and orders only. It is nigh impossible to replicate.”

The trader returns the papers to the table before Stoick. The council stands still and silent, a truly rare occurrence, to either side of him, along the large half moon table at the head of Berk's Mead Hall. Before them, under all their scrutiny, Johann fidgets nervously, unused to the attention of so many Chieftains.

“Read it again.”

Johann gives a tiny, exasperated huff, but dares not complain; he picks up the letter he'd just replaced.“....'By order of your Lord, under command of your Liege, units eighteen through twenty-nine are to deploy immediately to the Barbaric Isles'- That's the Archipelago, of course, '-for purposes of demonic prevention and banishment. Do not create unneeded conflict, but be aware that your mission is time sensitive. Retrieve the information and eliminate the threat by any means necessary. You will be allowed provisions of the following means: fifteen caliber warships, three hundred units of swords, twenty-five units-' ”

“Enough.” Stoick growls. “When was this drafted?”

“By your calendar...oh, goodness, it would be- Thorri. But it is written here that they were to depart by late Goa.”

“Then they will arrive to the outer banks within the week.” 

“Then what are we waiting for?” Alvin shouts suddenly. “We must return to our villages at once and gather our armies.”

“Ay, that may be all well and good for you lot; yer isle's on the way to the front line!” Arngrim, chief of the Northlanders speaks. What about the rest of us? We've naught the time to head north, gather our people, and turn back to meet them!” 

“Well, leave it to us, then! We Outcasts are more than enough to fend them off. There's a reason the Archipelago's border has been quiet for so long, after all.”

“Ay, but it's more likely tha' smell of that lot than the strength of their fire.” Gobber murmurs in Stoick's ear. He earns a royal elbow in the ribs.

“If there is truth in these numbers, no lone village can hold in their wake. No matter how powerful their warriors.” A chief speaks up.

Alvin slams a hand on the table, ready to start a feud; Stoick is not in the frame of mind to deal with such a scene.

“We can't waste any time.” He interrupts, straightening up. “If we depart immediately, we can meet them with a substantial force. The Beserkers brought many to this years Bind; with their strength, all of Berk's warriors, and reinforcements from Outcast isle, we may just hold them off.”

Alvin calms, grinning smugly. “I _knew_ you'd see reason, Lord Stoick.”

Stoick barely holds back an eyeroll, instead opting for a gentle, dismissive wave. “However, we dare not undervalue the bind-fire of all the Achipelago's warriors. We will need every man and woman available to guarantee our success.”

“If we are to leave at once, what of the young we brought here?” Someone says from the Meathead party. “Are we to leave them to fend for themselves?”

Stoick pauses; truthfully, he had not even considered the newly bound. He had been distracting himself from such topics with fervor. He re-seats himself in his throne as the others discuss.

“Why not bring them along? This year's warriors are blessed by the gods!”

“_Bring them_? Twenty untrained children, to battle, by way of wooden ships?”

“Why ever not?” Lord Calder, of the Mongrels, stands. “Our warriors have certainly never had worry for it; they live and train aboard our vessels from their initial bind to full mastery. Never have we had a ship burn.”

“Aye, maybe so. But there'll not be time to train them in the wake of war.”

Stoick turns to Gobber, meeting his eyes with purpose. The hunched man grimaces, eyes pleading, then put upon, then resigned.

“Ah, well, it can't be helped.” He murmurs. 

He hobbles around the seated and standing chiefs until he stands on the far side of the table, next to Johann.

“Not to fear, my Lords. If yer children are to be left on Berk, they may train with our youngens until they can be fetched. I oversee training ma'self; they'd be well watched.”

“Hah! Well watched my teeth; Gobber, you couldn't control a tame mutt if you offered it a yak-chop!” Alvin barks.

Gobber puffs up his chest, clearly offended, as a few councilmen chuckle softly. “I'll have you know I've trained all of Berk's warriors from the time I was thirty! Fine warriors, the lot of em'!”

“Ah yes, your _current_ apprentice is especially skilled, is he not?”

There are a few aborted snickers and a hasty silence. Stoick is momentarily appalled, but it does not last. He sees red as he rises slowly; those who have remained standing sink back into their seats.

“If any have a problem with my choice of _trainer_, they can feel free to take their children to battle, or retreat home and leave the rest of us to defend our lands.” Stoick nearly shouts. He takes a few deep breaths through his nose, suddenly ready to be done with the whole affair. “Berk will sail South tomorrow; who will join us?”

There is a long, tense silence as the chieftains whisper with their personal councils, weighing their options. Eventually, Oswald rises.

“The Berserkers will sail with you.” He declares, stroking his beard thoughtfully. “And my children will remain here, to oversee our young.”

“_What?!_” Dagur has shot up from his seat behind Oswald. “Dad, I-”

“Dagur!” Oswald barks. “Be silent!”

Despite the boy's wild nature, he wilts under his father's scolding tone. Though Oswald makes a formidable rival, Stoick finds himself dreading the day he should fully retire.

The silver-haired chief continues as though uninterrupted. “It would be uncouth for us to leave the _great_ number of newly bound Berserkers to Berk's people alone; it is the least we can do to provide additional trainers.” 

Stoick seethes at the underhanded boasting, but now is not the time to pick fights; he simply nods respectfully.

Not to be outdone, Alvin stands next. “Of course, the Outcasts will fight! And as a token of goodwill, I offer my heir to you, Gobber, as an extra helping hand, ah, here on Berk.”

“Oh, goody.” Gobber mutters.

One by one, the chieftains rise and declare their intention to join the crusade. When one clan shows off, it is nigh impossible for any to back down. Both a blessing and a curse; it has led to many a pig-headed conflict in Stoick's time as King.

By the time Smulder Frostbeard has finishes her proclamation, Stoick is ready to jump out of his skin.

“Then we leave tomorrow morning. All in favor?”

A resounding “_AYE!_” echoes through the rafters.

“King Halvar. Will you engage or abstain?”

“The Defenders will engage the motion.”

“Lady Atali?”

“The Wingmaidens will engage.”

Stoick nods, satisfied and unsurprised. This invasion affects the whole of the Archipelago, it is only appropriate that all should participate.

“Great!” Gobber exclaims. “Then you lot only have one decision left.” 

“What's that, Gobber?” Stoick asks.

The man raises his hand in a fist, thumb pointing behind him. “What becomes of our _benevolent_ messengers?”

The two men have sat silent behind Johann through the discussion's entirety, though obviously not out of fear; the larger of the two leans casually in his seat, demeanor quite confronting. As the many eyes turn to him at once, the smaller one smiles with the charisma of a practiced businessman, though he looks at Stoick alone.

“Truth be told, I don't often dabble in the realm of philanthropy. However, given that you have liberated us of our weapons, ship, and guards, it appears I am in no position to request payment. At this point, I would be most grateful if you'd let us go with our lives.”

“What do you take us for, man? Do they not have law and order where you're from?”

“It's like I always said; the Mainlanders think we're lawless barbarians!”

“Send them back the way they came!”

Stoick snorts, leaning back in his throne. “Enough.” He says, waving his hand. The rowdier chieftains quiet back down.

“You understand... um-”

“Viggo, Lord Stoick.” the man stands, bowing lightly from the hips. “Viggo Grimborn. And, my older brother, Ryker.” he gestures to the other's grimacing form.

“...Right.” Stoick sighs, rubbing his eyes. “You understand that we cannot let you leave? Our borders are closed, besides Johann, who has proven himself to be trustworthy.”

'Oh, thank you Lord Stoick, it is _truly_ an honor to be considered a friend of the Wilderwest; I've never had trade that is quite so-”

“_Johann._”

“Ah, apologies.”

“Yet you managed to approach our isle, in the center of our archipelago, unspotted, during the largest gathering of clans of the year. What do you suppose that looks like to us?”

The council mutters their agreements, glaring at the young man suspiciously. 

“I understand your concern, Lord Stoick. I wish to express to you just how coincidental our arrival during this..._important_ time truly was, but I doubt you would believe it. Instead, I must convince you of our good intentions.” Viggo speaks up, obviously intending for all to hear. He strokes his beard, if one can call such a sheared thing thus, and struts about before the council table. 

“We took a simple contract to complete on our journey south; it is quite usual for merchants to carry others' goods on the return to port. However, I found this delivery to be odd, as it was only a single letter, and they were paying us a large sum. I do not make a habit of prying into my clients' business, but naturally, I needed to protect myself and my men in the case of illegal dealings.”

He pauses his pacing, stepping up to the table where the letter lay spread, and the councilmen themselves. “Though possessions are becoming more frequent in the Southern Lands, I did not expect them to turn the blame to your people so soon. I felt a moral obligation to seek you out, as you would have no way of knowing in your, pardon my saying so, reclusive state.”

Alvin makes an indignant noise. “ _'Moral obligation?_' “

Viggo inclines his head slightly, acquiescing. “I will not lie; there has long been talk amongst the more daring merchants about your untapped market. It would be to any trader's advantage to be one of the few to do business with the Wildmen of the Sea. It was my hope to kill two birds with one stone, and use the letter to foster a relationship with your people.”

“Ay, there it is, lads.”

“Should have known.”

“With your great interest in our market, you should know that the Clans drive back all who approach our shores. What made you think you would be any different?” Halvar questions.

“We did not. But, as you've said, their have been multiple accounts of ships returning to port after approaching you. I knew you to be honorable people.”

There is a moment of appeased rumbling, before a hand strikes the table. 

“See here, lords! We should not have let so many leave with so few casualties! Have I not pleaded this case before?” Snorre, chief of the Thunderheads, exclaims. “Now see, they will keep coming, seeking to strip our lands dry, and we will only have more work in fighting them off.”

“But had we slain indiscriminately, we would not have received this warning.” Smulder says, eyes alight. “How can you argue for more loss of life?”

“You're soft. See, this is why women-folk shouldn'-”

The room gives a seemingly unified groan, cutting off his attempt. Stoick stands with a sigh.

“_Enough_. We are not here to tread old, irrelevant disputes.”

“If I may, Lords, I may have a solution that would benefit both parties, and affirm our intentions.” Viggo say, looking to Stoick imploringly. 

“Very well. Let's hear it.” Stoick says.

“Since it is clear you will not send us on our way, we may yet be of use; I have knowledge of the Nords' tactics and weaponry, as well as navigational skills. Allow me and my men to aid you in your efforts, and when we return, we may discuss a potential trade agreement.”

Stoick raises a brow in disbelief. “You'd sail to battle?”

“Certainly! We're no strangers to conflict, after all.”

Stoick twists a strand of his beard absentmindedly while the council debates amongst themselves. Opinions seem very mixed; it is likely many hold the same concerns as he does. This man was much too quick to offer a solution. He has an agenda, that's for certain; whether it expands beyond his desire for business remains to be seen.

“Lords! A proposal.”

The room goes quiet, giving Oswald the floor.

“Lets accept this boy's offer. But let his kin stay here, on Berk.” He says, pointing to where Ryker sits. “As insurance that they won't try anything.”

Gods bless Oswald's sharp mind. To Stoick's satisfaction, both the men have matching expressions of shock. They clearly were not expecting such a condition. 

“Agreed.” Stoick quickly confirms before any can argue. “All in favor?”

“Aye!” three-quarters of the chieftains rise, indicating their acceptance.

“Then we're settled. Grimborn,” he turns to the lad, and finds his face quite matches his name. “you will sail with us tomorrow morn.”

“...well, I suppose we have no choice, then.” Viggo responds stiffly, arms behind his back.

“No,” Stoick replies. “you do not.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AAAAAAAAAHH waddup
> 
> Sorry for the wait, I had a lot of research and timeline mapping to do in prep for the next few chapters. Speaking of which, I've made a minor line change in a previous chapter in relation to the timeline. Nothing too noticeable but i thought i'd mention it.
> 
> anyways, as always, thanks for reading, C&C welcome. Hope you enjoyed!


End file.
